


A Tale of Two Diseases

by atthebarricades



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cancer, Cutting, F/M, Friendship, Hospital, Love, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Self Harm, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicide, i also have no clue what the ending will be yet so be warned for whatever I might come up with, im really bad at tags and summaries im sorry, mentions of eating disorders, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 62,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atthebarricades/pseuds/atthebarricades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has had a couple of bad things happen to him. He's suicidal and believes he's on the brink of insanity and no one can help him.</p><p>Enjolras has been forced to come to terms with death too many times due to his Leukemia. His friends support him but he only seems interested in helping the world as much as he can before he dies. </p><p>Then they meet.</p><p>~On hiatus but I am not finished with this~<br/>~As of May 9, 2016 I have decided I'm mass editing this, hopefully making it better and finishing it~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Permanent Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm new at writing fanfiction, and this is my first Les Mis one ever. It's mostly based on the movie and stuff I've learned from Tumblr. I haven't reached the part of Les Amis in the brick yet but I'm trying here. 
> 
>  
> 
> -And trigger warning for suicide and self harm on this chapter- 
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read. 
> 
> Another 
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Those who know say it wasn’t Grantaire’s fault, but Grantaire thinks he must’ve done something to provoke him. Something to make him to that to him. He just didn’t know anymore. 

All Grantaire could feel was pain, hurt, desperation, sadness, and a spreading numbness that threatened to overtake him. It was just like after _the incident_ , as he had taken to calling it. It had already been a year and Grantaire couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder wherever he walked, couldn’t help but flinch whenever someone touched him. He couldn’t help the way he acted. This had been done to him, it wasn’t his fault. But he still blamed himself.

It was August 20th, the same day _the incident_ happened, exactly one year ago. It was the date Grantaire chose to die. For twelve months he saw him around the city, school, everywhere. He couldn’t take it anymore, the helplessness, the sadness. He couldn’t take the anxiety, the fear, the flashbacks, his own thoughts. He couldn’t take the voice. That cruel voice that haunted his thoughts, reminding him of everything he would rather forget. _I’m a twisted human being_ , Grantaire thought, _a waste of space. I don’t need to be alive._

He took the sleeping pills, shoving them into his mouth by the handfuls, and swallowing them dry. It burned like a bitch, but Graintaire couldn’t bring himself to care. It would be over soon, this small pain was nothing. He took comfort in the thought that he wouldn’t be able to feel anything anymore soon. His eyelids drooped but before he went to lie down, he set the note on his desk, where his mom would find it. Grantaire didn’t want her to feel that it was her fault. This was all him. 

With a sleepy smile, Grantaire dropped onto his bed and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, his door opened, but he was already gone.

~*~*~*~

Grantaire was first aware of the sounds around him, the annoying _beep_ of a heart monitor along with an almost indistinguishable _drip, drip, drip_. There was also a voice murmuring at his side. It was a voice he would’ve recognized anywhere; it belonged to his mother. 

Slowly, Grantaire opened his eyes, and then felt his entire world crash around him. An indescribable sadness took over his mind and he felt tears flood his eyes and drop down his cheeks. A sob racked itself out of his throat and he was crying. It was a horrible crying, a heart-wrenching sobbing. Grantaire’s mom, Margaret, quickly rushed to his side and took her son’s hand in hers. “Thank God you’re ok” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Grantaire turned his head and sobbed into his pillow, not wanting to see the look on his mother’s face. “You’re okay, honey. You’re alive and you’re okay.” Margaret said thickly, brushing back his unruly hair.

Grantaire nodded, but that wasn’t why he was crying. _It didn’t work_ , Grantaire thought, _I’m still alive_. He raised his head and asked in a horse voice, “Could you get me some water?” Margaret nodded, but instead of leaving the room, she reached over and pressed the call button next to Grantaire’s bed. A nurse was in almost immediately. 

The first thing the nurse did was check his vitals, make sure everything was alright. She then informed Grantaire that a doctor would be in to see him soon. “Could you get him a glass of water?” Margaret asked and the nurse nodded curtly before leaving the room. 

Grantaire sighed wearily and tried to make the pillow more comfortable. A headache was starting to form at his temples and he groaned and pressed his hands against his eyes. His stomach felt completely empty, but he didn’t feel like eating. He tried to sit up, but quickly gave up and struggled into a fetal position instead. He noted that he was wearing familiar socks and one of those hospital gowns that didn’t cover enough. He was grateful for the flimsy hospital sheet and the old quilt that was thrown over that. _How long have I been here?_ , Grantaire wondered. He did his absolute best to ignore his mother’s stare. He felt incredibly exhausted, more than he ever had in his life.

The nurse walked in again with a glass of water, which Grantaire took gratefully and drank slowly, not wanting to get sick. When he had finished, he leaned back down; the nurse took the glass from him and patted his hand. “You had an extremely close call,” she said, “You’re very lucky to be alive, young man.” Grantaire nodded as the nurse left; he didn’t feel very lucky at all.

“How long have I been here?” He asked his mom, finally breaking their silence. Grantaire was still facing away from her.

“Two days.” Margaret responded, and Grantaire could tell she was close to tears. A few more minutes of silence passed between the two before Margaret asked harshly, “Why did you do it?”

Grantaire had been expecting that, maybe not the tone, but the question definitely. “I just couldn’t take it anymore.” He said after a deep breath.

Margaret just looked at her son. Grantaire finally turned to look at her and froze; he wasn’t used to that look, his mom wasn’t really looking at him, more like through him. He raised his hand and waved his hand in front of her face. Margaret grabbed his wrist roughly and nearly yelled, “I know damn well something happened, now tell me what it was!” Graintaire only shrugged and looked down at his other hand. “Answer me!” She screamed. 

Grantaire only stared at her, dumbfounded. Finally he managed to choke out, “No.”

Margaret stood up quickly, letting go of his wrist. “Do you have any idea how scared I was? I went into your room and saw you sleeping, thinking you were just going to take a nap. Then I saw the bottle of pills and read the letter on your desk.” She was crying freely by now. “What were you thinking? What could be so bad that you’d want to kill yourself?” She took her son’s shoulders and started shaking him harshly. “What could be so bad? Tell me!”

Now Grantaire was angry and maybe slightly scared. Margaret looked insane, there was a weird glint in her eyes that Graintaire had never seen before. He yelled right back at his mother, exhaustion forgotten as anger filled his body, “I was fucking raped! That’s what happened, alright? That’s why I tried to kill myself. I just wanted out, but I’m still here.” He shook his head and turned away from her once again. 

Grantaire wouldn’t look at his mother but her voice was quiet when she asked, “Who did it?”

“I’m not telling you.” He replied immediately, just as the door opened a tough looking nurse walked in. 

“Is there a problem here?” The nurse asked, eyeing Margaret suspiciously. 

“None at all.” Graintaire heard his mother reply. “Now if you could let me speak with my son.”

After a short hesitation, the nurse nodded, “I’ll be standing right outside; if I hear yelling again, you will be asked to leave, Ma’am.” Margaret nodded and the nurse walked out. 

Margaret walked over to Grantaire again and took his wrist in hand. Grantaire turned his head towards her as her fingers traced the scars on his wrists. “Did he do this to you too?” She asked, trying to sound calm, but it was more like the calm before a storm. 

“No.” Grantaire answered shortly and took his hand back once again.

Margaret’s eyes narrowed and she asked in a harder voice, “Then how did you get those?”

After a minute or so, Grantaire whispered, “I did it to myself.” He had to force himself to look away as his mother’s eyes filled with tears again. He just wanted to sleep, he didn’t want to deal with all of this right now. Margaret looked to the ground and tried to regain her composure as the doctor walked in. 

“Dr. Valjean” Margaret said in greeting as she hastily wiped at her eyes. Dr. Valjean smiled at her kindly and then turned to Grantaire. 

“You gave us quite a scare there, son.” He said. “But you seem to be recovering well. You’ll be admitted into the psychiatric ward for at least a week, mostly for monitoring and helping you adjust to your new medication. After that, you’ll be an outpatient. You’ll still be required to come in, but won’t have to stay overnight.” Grantaire nodded numbly and Dr. Valjean asked, “How do you feel?” The question sounded genuine, but even so, Grantaire thought it was all bullshit.

“I feel fine.” Grantaire said simply, it had been his default answer for questions like that for a year.

“Good, good.” Dr. Valjean nodded, “You’ll stay here tonight and tomorrow we’ll move you to young adult psychiatric. Rest well.” And with a kind smile, he left the room.

Margaret stood and crossed the room to close the blinds. Grantaire took a second to study his mother in the harsh lighting of the hospital room. She looked tired, for the most part. Her eyes had dark bags underneath them and her hair was oily, as if she hadn’t washed it in a few days. Her usually bright brown eyes were dull, her clothes looked rumpled, and her skin had a sickly color to it. Grantaire wondered if any of the doctors thought she was sick. 

Margaret settled down on the other bed in Grantaire’s room. She lied down and faced her son, closing her eyes and falling asleep almost immediately. “I love you, Mom.” Grantaire whispered, as he turned away to fall asleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is Enjolras's PoV   
> Also, I expect this to be a pretty long fic for what I have planned   
> (and, if you leave me feedback, you'll be my favourite person)


	2. Chemo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has his first chemo session in five years
> 
> Combeferre and Enjolras are roommates and best friends  
> Combeferre is Enjolras's confidant and the only person he's willing to talk to about his disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Acute lymphoblastic leukemia, or ALL. That had been Enjolras’s diagnosis since he was thirteen. Doctors predicted he would die. Then he went into remission at fourteen. The cancer was back when he was sixteen, and once again, doctors saw no hope. No one thought he would actually make it through that time, but he did and went into remission a week before his seventeenth birthday. Now, at twenty-two, the cancer was back again. Enjolras knows he’s dying, he knows this disease is what will kill him. Whatever time he has left though, he wants to use to try to help the world.

Enjolras finds it funny that people call him an inspiration, not because of his spirit, not because of his words, or his thoughts, but because of his disease. He used to hate that fact, but after years of hearing it, he’s come to be amused by it and uses whatever attention he gets to try to raise awareness of the many issues in the world. Enjolras was definitely not just another normal person, his spirit burned bright and his words were strong, and it definitely wasn’t his disease that made him special. 

That morning, he was starting chemotherapy again. He was not looking forward to it, but it was better than radiation (or so he’d heard, he’d never actually gone through it). And bone marrow aspirations (Enjolras was not now or ever a fan of big needles). And surgery. 

Enjolras sighed and forced himself to get out of bed and face the day. He walked out to the living room to see his roommate, Combeferre, sitting at the table eating cereal while reading a textbook, his sand-colored hair hanging in his eyes. “Morning, ‘Ferre” Enjolras greeted him as he walked into the kitchen to make his own breakfast. 

“Morning, Enj” Combeferre replied, not looking up from his textbook. Enjolras made himself a bowl of cereal and poured himself a cup of water before sitting down across from him. “Need a ride today?” Combeferre asked, looking at Enjolras over the top of his glasses. Enjolras nodded and ate his cereal as fast as he could, he was running a bit late.

After they were both finished, Combeferre took the bowls and gave Enjolras a steady look, “Are you alright?”  He asked quietly. Had it been any other person, Enjolras would’ve scoffed. But this was Combeferre, his best friend, practically his brother. Only he knew how much the news that Enjolras’s cancer was back was actually afffecting him.

Enjolras nodded solemnly, “I’m fine.” Then he went to put on his shoes as Combeferre dropped the bowls in the sink. “Ready to go?”

Combeferre grabbed his keys and twirled them around his finger, “Yep, let’s go.”

~*~*~*~

“Say ‘hi’ to ‘Chetta for me.” Combeferre called out as Enjolras walked towards the cancer treatment centre. 

Musichetta was a beautiful woman, even Enjolras noticed and he was oblivious when it came to things like this.  She had smooth olive skin, very dark hair that fell in loose waves to her waist, and impossibly dark eyes. She was kind beyond belief and always seemed to know the right thing to say. Just by looking at you she could tell what was wrong and knew exactly how to comfort you. Musichetta was the perfect nurse basically, which really came in handy to take care of her boyfriends. Joly was a jovial redhead. He was a med student which didn’t really help his hypochondria; he constantly misdiagnosed himself with all kinds of diseases. Bossuet had the most terrible luck, he was bald at only twenty-five and had a permanent bed in the emergency room. Musichetta had her hands full with her boys, Enjolras didn’t know how she did it. 

“Hey, Enjolras.” Musichetta smiled kindly at him, “How are you feeling today?”

“I’m good, ‘Chetta” Enjolras replied good-naturedly, “Combeferre says hi. How’re Joly and Bossuet?” 

Musichetta’s smile turned loving and fond, “Joly thinks he’s caught the flu, says he’s feeling a headache and has a fever so he’s staying home today. Bossuet’s gone and sprained his ankle so Joly’s baby-ing him. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Enjolras smiled, glad to know some things never changed. “So no chance of them coming to the Musain tomorrow?”

Musichetta laughed and looked at Enjolras knowingly, “We’ll be there, don’t worry.”

Enjolras nodded and walked into the torture chamber. That’s how he liked to think of it, anyway. Chemo didn’t hit Enjolras as bad as it hit some of the other patients, but he was the most terrible invalid anyone had ever met. He knew he needed the treatment to stay alive, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t resent it. The nausea medicine he was given usually worked and the most bothersome thing about the treatment was usually just the metallic taste in his mouth. It was still chemo, though, and it was unpleasant. Not to mention it left him utterly exhausted.

Enjolras sat in one of the empty recliners, preferring them to the cots that were on the opposite side of the room, and leaned back to wait for his nurse to come in with the drugs. About five minutes later, she walked in and greeted him, “Hey, sweetie, how are you doing today?” She gestured to Enjolras’s chest and he pulled out the cannula that had been connected to the port in his upper chest.

Enjolras refrained from commenting on the “sweetie” since this was Maryssa and she had been his nurse since he was first diagnosed and treated. 

“I’m okay.” Enjolras said shortly as she took a sample of his blood and gave him his anti-sickness drugs, which were supposed to make the experience less unpleasant, but Enjolras was positive he would feel the same without them. Nonetheless, he took them. 

“Here we go.” Maryssa said as she connected the needle to the tube, starting his first chemo session in five years. Enjolras didn’t feel anything immediately, but he knew he would soon. “I’ll be sitting over there if you need me.” She said, pointing to the chairs close to the door. Enjolras nodded silently as she walked away. 

He threw up within the hour. Enjolras wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed away the pan he had used. He chewed gum to try to get rid of the taste and turned to face the cots, bored of the show that was on TV. 

There was a young girl on one of the cots, no older than ten, getting an IV plugged into her arm. The girl’s mother was sitting next to her, and was paler than the girl herself. Enjolras watched the process for a few minutes, feeling sick to his stomach. He remembered his first chemo session and it wasn’t a memory he was particularly fond of. As the nurse walked away from them, the girl’s mother held her child’s hand tightly. Then the young girl looked up and met Enjolras’s gaze, looking downright terrified. Full of sympathy, Enjolras smiled hesitantly at the girl, hoping it looked reassuring, and kept himself from saying “ _I’ve been there, so many times, and I’m still here. You’ll be okay_.” Because Enjolras wasn’t even sure if he himself would be okay. He turned back to the TV and away from the girl’s scared eyes. 

~*~*~*~

Four hours of treatment later, Enjolras was allowed to go home. He felt sick, but that was chemo. He took out his cellphone and called Combeferre, knowing that his roommate had no classes that day and didn’t have to work either and probably wouldn’t mind picking him up so he wouldn’t have to take the bus. About ten minutes later, Combeferre pulled up in front of Enjolras. 

“Feeling alright?” Combeferre asked as Enjolras got into the passenger’s seat of the car. 

Enjolras nodded slowly, “I’m just tired.” Combeferre put his hand on his best friend’s shoulder and gave him a steady gaze before turning back to the wheel and driving them home. A few minutes of silence passed before Enjolras said, “You know I’m not going to last long, right?”

That’s how Combeferre knew something was truly wrong, that wasn’t usually how his best friend spoke about his disease, he frowned but kept his eyes on the road, “Don’t talk like that. You’ve beat this before and you will again.”

“You can’t be sure of that.” Enjolras countered, sliding down in his seat and leaning his head against the window. 

“You can’t be sure of anything,” Combeferre said, “But I never thought you would be the one pointing this out.” 

“You know it’s the truth.” Enjolras murmured back quietly. Combeferre couldn’t think of what to say, which was an exceptionally rare occasion for him.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, but as Combeferre parked the car in front of their building he said, “Let’s watch a movie tonight. Invite over Courfeyrac and just watch _V for Vendetta_ or something. What do you say?” Enjolras nodded, saying nothing, and headed out of the car and into the building; Combeferre followed him inside. 

“Your mom called.” Combeferre said as he locked the apartment door behind him.

“Did you answer?” Enjolras asked, a frown forming at the mention of his mother. Enjolras didn’t get along with his parents, disagreeing with them on most everything. They were conservative while he was probably the most liberal human being alive. The only reason he kept in contact with them was because he was part of their health insurance plan and they paid for all of his treatments and helped with the rent of the apartment; had Enjolras not had a full-ride scholarship, they would probably pay for his schooling as well. While they didn’t agree with their son’s views, Enjolras’s parents didn’t let him fend for himself, no matter how much he insisted he could. It was hard enough for Combeferre to convince Enjolras that he needed the money his parents gave him to get his treatments, it was even harder to convince him to actually talk to them. Usually Combeferre was the one giving Enjolras’s mother updates on her son’s health. Now that the cancer was back, Combeferre was sure that those calls would become more frequent. 

“Yes, and I told her you would call her after chemo.” Combeferre replied calmly and walked to the living room. He picked up his book, and sat on the couch. “I would get it over with, if I were you.”

Enjolras sighed frustratedly and went to his room to call his mother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how often I'll be updating but it probably won't be every day, I don't know since it really depends on how far ahead I've written (which hasn't been much). But it annoyed me how I had R's PoV up and none of Enjolras's since the summary for the whole thing mentions them both, so yeah here it is.
> 
> Thanks for reading and feedback is very much appreciated! :)


	3. Outpatient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire did not like being an inpatient
> 
> We meet Jehan and Feuilly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.
> 
> (Also, I did warn you guys, I suck at summaries)

Grantaire could easily describe his week as an inpatient with one word, hell. He was constantly being watched and basically force fed medication since he insisted he didn’t need it. The only positive thing he got out of it was meeting Jean Prouvaire. When the flowery poet, with his small, frail frame and braided blond hair, had first approached Grantaire, he had felt the urge to ask if he had gotten dressed in the dark as Jean was wearing a huge purple sweater, at least three sizes too big, and pink skinny jeans with yellow flowers on them. “Jean Prouvaire,” He had introduced himself, sticking out a bony hand for Grantaire to shake, “But call me Jehan.”

“Grantaire, but call me R.” Grantaire had said, shaking the boy’s hand. Grantaire thought he couldn’t have been older than 16; there were people from all ages up to twenty-five in the psych ward he was in, it was possible. “How old are you?” He asked out of curiosity.

“Twenty” Jehan replied, sitting down next to him. “What about you?”

Grantaire tried to stop his eyebrows from reaching his hairline and replied, “Twenty-two”

Grantaire had thought it a sort of unspoken rule to not ask about what had landed any of the patients in the psych ward, but apparently Jehan didn’t feel the same. “So what’re you in here for?” The poet fiddled with the end of his braid, twirling the flowers in it.

A bitter smile crossed Grantaire’s face, “Attempted suicide, apparently PTSD, depression, and general suicidal and self-harming tendencies.” Grantaire ran a hand through his hair,  “What about you?”

“They diagnosed me with anorexia nervosa and self-harming tendencies.” Jehan unconsciously pulled the sleeves of his large sweater down over his hands. 

“You too, huh.” Grantaire said, half unaware that he was speaking. 

Jehan gave him a smile that nearly matched Grantaire’s in bitterness. He liked Jehan, Grantaire decided then. He was small and looked weak, but Grantaire could see a fire in his eyes, a sort of steel. “I like the pun, by the way.” At Grantaire’s look of confusion, Jehan clarified himself, “Getting ‘R’ from ‘Grantaire’, it’s clever.”

Grantaire let out a full laugh at that, “I like you Jehan,” he told him, “Most people don’t get it.”

Jehan smiled, “Ma mère était française. Je connais un peu la langue.” _My mother was French. I know a little of the language._  

“I learned some after my mom told my my dad was French.” Grantaire replied, he didn’t know why he was telling Jehan this, he rarely spoke of his past and much less his father. There was something about Jehan, though; something that made Grantaire feel that he could trust him. “I thought that if I learned it...” _He would come back for me._ Grantaire left it unsaid, he wasn’t sure he wanted to share that.

Thankfully, Jehan let it slip and then Grantaire was called into the psychiatrist’s office. “I’ll see you later, Jehan.” Grantaire called out as he walked away. 

“Bye, R.” Jehan said quietly. 

~*~*~*~

Grantaire felt like celebrating the day he got out of the hospital. Sure, he had to start an outpatient program that Monday, but it felt great to know he could go back home. He did feel bad knowing that Jehan was still an inpatient, he would’ve been released by then but he started refusing food again and throwing up if he was force fed. He was now being fed by tube and Grantaire felt sad that he couldn’t do anything to help his friend. “I’ll see you on Monday.” He had told Jehan earlier that morning, when he went to say goodbye. 

“See you on Monday.” Jehan had replied as a nurse walked in to see if Jehan would eat breakfast and kicked Grantaire out. Grantaire hadn’t liked how pale Jehan had looked but couldn’t do anything about it.

Grantaire took the bus to the apartment he shared with Feuilly, who he hadn’t talked to for a week and Grantaire hoped his mother had told his roommate what had happened. After all, Grantaire had been visiting his mother during his suicide attempt, his roommate wouldn’t know of it otherwise. It was only for that weekend though, so Feuilly must’ve called and wondered about where he was all that week. Maybe not though, it wasn’t the first time Grantaire had disappeared without warning. Grantaire fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the door. “Where the hell have you been?” Feuilly yelled the moment he got through the door. 

Grantaire shut the door behind him and set his bag down. So his mother didn’t call his roommate. Grantaire shrugged and went to his room, feeling in desperate need of a shower. “R!” Feuilly called after him, then followed him into his room. 

Grantaire was sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard and simply replied, “The hospital, any more questions?”

“Yes, quite a few actually.” Feuilly said, sitting on the edge of Grantaire’s bed. “Like ‘why were you in the hospital?’ for instance.” 

“You know how I was visiting my mom last weekend?” Grantaire started, trying to stall really.

“Yes...” Grantaire could tell that Feuilly wanted him to cut the bullshit and just get to the point, so he did.

“I kind of, might’ve, overdosed on sleeping pills and ended up getting my stomach pumped and stuck as an inpatient for a week for suicidal tendencies.” _Among other things_ , Grantaire chose not to say. 

Feuilly looked as if that was the last thing he had been expecting Grantaire to say. He blinked a few times and shook his head as if to clear it, “So you- you were in the hospital this entire time.” Grantaire nodded even though it wasn’t a question. “Why didn’t you call me?” Feuilly demanded. “I was worried sick about you, I thought you might’ve died in a ditch somewhere after drinking too much, and it seems I wasn’t that far off.” 

Grantaire cringed but he knew he deserved this. “I- I’m sorry.” He said.

Feuilly sighed, “No, it’s- don’t worry about it, I’m being an asshole. Are you okay?”

Grantaire smiled his usual self-deprecating smile, “Do you want an honest answer to that?”

Feuilly licked his lips and ran a hand over his curly brown hair, it was getting long, but he probably didn’t even notice. “I’m serious, R. What happens now? Have you talked to Margaret?” Grantaire shook his head. “Call her.” Feuilly insisted. “I know you don’t want to, but call her. She’s your mother and she deserves to hear from you.” Feuilly was an orphan so he took great measures to make sure that his friends talked to their parents, if only because he couldn’t. Grantaire knew Feuilly didn’t mean to make him feel guilty, and Grantaire didn’t, but it was the push he had needed to work up the nerve to deal with his mom. 

“I’ll do it if you get me my phone.” Grantaire said, smiling sickly sweet. Feuilly rolled his eyes but complied, walking out and back in with Grantaire’s phone in hand. “Thank you, dear Feuilly. Now get out of my room while I talk to my mother.” Feuilly shook his head but there was a slightly fond smile on his face as he walked out.

~*~*~*~

Outpatient programs, Grantaire discovered, weren’t really all that different from inpatient programs. He did much of the same things, except now he got to go home at the end of the day. 

Grantaire took the bus to the hospital again, since Feuilly needed his car to get to his jobs. Apparently he had called in for Grantaire at his own job and explained the situation and he could come back when he was done with the program. As Grantaire walked into the centre for outpatient care he bumped into someone, causing them to drop their bag.

Grantaire started to bend to pick it up and hand it back but he stopped when he looked into the face of the stranger he had walked into. This stranger was a god, he was Apollo come down from the heavens to walk among us humans. He had beautiful curly blond hair that just reached the nape of his neck. His eyes were the deepest blue and Grantaire felt he could get lost in them for hours. Grantaire’s hand itched for a pencil to try to sketch that perfect, strong jawline, which was strange since he hadn’t felt like drawing anything for a year. Then he saw what this Apollo was wearing, sinfully tight jeans and a red V-neck shirt that clung to his, quite attractive, body. Grantaire took all of this in in about five seconds and then kneeled to pick up the stranger’s bag and hand it back to them. “I’m sorry.” Grantaire said, struggling to make his voice work. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

Apollo took back his bag and shouldered it, “It’s alright.” He said, in the most beautiful voice Grantaire had ever heard in his life, he was pretty sure he swooned. “Haven’t seen you around before.” Apollo remarked.

Grantaire cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m sort of new, I guess. Starting a program today.”

Apollo nodded and stuck out his hand, “I’m Enjolras” he introduced himself.

“Enjolras” Grantaire repeated, liking how the name rolled off his tongue. Then he snapped himself out of it and shook Enjolras’s hand. “I’m Grantaire, but you can just call me R.” 

Enjolras’s lips quirked up a bit as he got the pun and Grantaire felt strangely accomplished, as if he had just pleased a god (and Grantaire certainly thought he just had). “Well it was nice meeting you, R.” Enjolras said, holding the strap of his bag. “See you around maybe.” Then Apollo walked out of the outpatient centre and into a waiting car. Grantaire tried his best not to look too dumbstruck but he doubted he succeeded. 

After staring after the car that held his new muse, he shook himself out of it and walked to the elevator, his hand still itching for a pencil.

~*~*~*~

“He was a god, Jehan.” Grantaire sighed. “I swear it, you didn’t see him. But I swear he was so perfect it makes me want to scream.” 

“So what’s wrong with him?” Jehan asked, sitting up on his bed. The little poet looked impossibly small, drowned by a hideous pink sweater that day.

“Huh?” Grantaire asked absentmindedly, still thinking about his Apollo. 

“It was an outpatient care centre, R.” Jehan reminded him, smiling slightly at how infatuated his friend looked. Jehan had never seen Grantaire look this way before and he found it adorable. “He must’ve been there for some type of treatment.” 

“Oh” Grantaire said, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know, I only talked to him long enough to learn his name and try not to drool.” Jehan’s smile grew wider. Grantaire had learned that he had started eating his meals again, and he felt incredibly happy about it. “I nearly forgot.” Grantaire said, pulling out a small sheet of paper and handing it to Jehan. “It’s my phone number, you can call me whenever you want, I’m never really busy.”

After a beat of silence, Jehan scrambled off the bed faster than Grantaire would’ve thought he could and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.” Jehan whispered into his ear after a minute and kissed his cheek. Grantaire smiled softly as the poet sat on his lap and continued hugging him. He had grown used to Jehan’s affectionate nature and even welcomed it. “It means a lot to have a friend.” Jehan added softly. Grantaire’s arms tightened around him and he pressed his cheek to the top of Jehan’s head. Grantaire didn’t know much about Jehan’s past, so he wasn’t sure what the kid had been through, but he was ready to kill anyone who hurt him (even though he was positive Jehan could defend himself).

“It’s no problem, Jehan.” Grantaire twirled Jehan’s braid around his fingers, “No problem at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY WANT TO HUG JEHAN AND READ HIM POETRY AND PICK FLOWERS WITH HIM AND BRAID HIS HAIR AND I JUST REALLY LOVE JEHAN OK
> 
> And Feuilly is so mama-bear in my head ok (don't ask me why but yes) 
> 
> oh and I've literally only taken one year of French, and I think it's correct, but if anyone who reads this speaks French fluently and thinks it needs correcting, please let me know!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! :)


	4. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Amis have a meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Enjolras sighed as he thought about the conversation with his mother earlier that week. 

“You should come home.” She had said. “There are much better doctors in this side of the country, you shouldn’t settle for anything but the best.” Enjolras’s parents had moved away three years before, a year after Enjolras went to college. They now lived in the west coast, no doubt in an overly expensive mansion, while Enjolras remained in the east coast, in the same city where he had lived all his life. 

“I’ve been with these doctors since the beginning.” He sighed, trying not to get too frustrated or just hang up on her. “I’m staying here, where I’m comfortable.” 

“What makes you think you won’t be comfortable with us?” His mother asked, with what she was probably sure was a threatening edge to her voice, but Enjolras just wanted to scoff at.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mother.” Enjolras ran a hand over his face.  “Maybe the fact that you hate everything I do, disapprove of all my opinions, and keep trying to set me up with girls from that godawful country club you keep wasting money that could be going to charity on when I’ve told you a million times that I’m gay and that’s not changing, ever.” Enjolras had to fight to keep from yelling. Talking to his mother always reminded him of all the fights they had when he was a teenager, even through treatment. They hadn’t gotten along since he was about nine. 

“Enjolras, it’s about time you got over this rebellious teenager phase, you’re an adul-” Enjolras’s mother was saying when he hung up and tried his hardest to keep from throwing his phone. Enjolras wasn’t one to lose his temper quickly, but if anyone was good at making him snap, it was his mother. 

There was a Les Amis meeting that night at his apartment, since Combeferre insisted that he needed to take it easy after chemo and rest, while Enjolras insisted that there was too much work to be done to rest. They reached a compromise, and the meeting would be held that same day but in the apartment so Enjolras wouldn’t have to leave home. 

He was thinking about all that he needed to do before the meeting when someone crashed into him and made him drop his bag. Grantaire was pleasant enough, Enjolras decided in his brief time talking to him. He was definitely an artist, his jeans and sweatshirt were both splattered by paint. He had charmingly messy dark curls and Enjolras kind of, maybe, wanted to run his hands through. His light blue eyes were pretty, if maybe a little doe-ish.

As much as he would’ve loved to stay and chat with the boy, find out his views on different topics, Enjolras did have a meeting to prepare for so he said goodbye to R and hurried outside to where Combeferre was waiting.

“Who was that?” Combeferre asked as Enjolras got into the car.

“That was Grantaire, or R, I guess.” Enjolras said

“Well, it’s good to see you making an effort to make friends here, it’ll be good for you.” Combeferre said casually.

“He’s not really my friend.” Enjolras said quickly, “We just kind of ran into each other, literally.” Combeferre gave him a strange look at that but dropped it. The rest of the ride was spent in silence. 

~*~*~*~

Courfeyrac was the first to arrive at Combeferre and Enjolras’s apartment, he didn’t even bother with knocking anymore since he knew the roommates never locked the door. “Enjy!” Courfeyrac yelled and threw himself on the couch next to Enjolras, who was hastily going over his notes for the meeting.

“Remind me, why am I friends with you again?” Enjolras muttered, moving on to another page of material he probably already knew by heart. 

“Because, sometimes you just need a little fun, and I’m always there to provide all the fun you’ll ever need.” Courfeyrac grinned wildly and Enjolras raised his eyebrows skeptically. 

“Yeah, okay, Courf.” Enjolras said, thinking he had dismissed Courfeyrac but he just kept glancing over Enjolras’s shoulder and asking what was going on in whatever place it was he was reading about, and thus, he successfully dragged Enjolras into a conversation. 

Courfeyrac was pretty strange, to say the least. He was a law student, slightly hyperactive, and had a knack for being over-dramatic. He had a huge smile and his kind eyes were dark brown. There was absolutely no way to control his hair, it was a creature all on its own and did whatever it wanted whenever it wanted, but it was usually just a mess of brown curls. He was a constant flirt, and not even an oblivious one, he knew what he was doing and he loved doing it, pity the poor souls of the girls who actually thought they could start a relationship with him, he never dated. He was a very loyal friend, though, and had first met Enjolras when they were both eighteen and freshmen in college.

Combeferre came out of his bedroom just as Bahorel charged into the apartment, carrying four six-packs of beer. “Think this’ll be enough?” He asked, dropping it on the kitchen table. Bahorel could best be described as Hulk’s slightly smaller, more human-looking brother. He was sporting a black eye and his knuckles were bruised, but he was smiling like a madman. Where Courf was the centre of the group, Bahorel was the party. He was the one that broke out the alcohol when nerves were getting too high or everyone just needed to “take a fucking break because all you bastards could use a night getting wasted”. They all loved him though. He joined the group after he and Enjolras both got arrested after a rally and spent hours in a jail cell talking until Combeferre bailed them both out (which Enjolras convinced him to do). Both Enjolras and Bahorel insist that it’s one of the best ways to get to know a person. 

“Bahorel, I don’t think beer is strictly necessary in these meetings.” Combeferre sighed fondly. 

Bahorel shrugged and said simply, “Listening to Enjolras sober is great, but listening to him when you’re drunk is another experience in and of itself.” And nobody questioned him.

Marius showed up next, knocking on the door before opening it. “Hey, guys. You’ll never believe what just happened.” Marius then proceeded to tell them about the blonde angel he had sat beside on the bus and how he was already in love with her and desperate to see her again. “I even got her number.” He raised up a piece of paper and looked oddly proud of himself.

“Let me see that.” Courf said, making sure Marius hadn’t been handed a phony, the poor guy probably wouldn’t have noticed. “It’s a real actual phone number.” He said after a moment. “Way to go, Pontmercy.” Courfeyrac patted him on the back and Marius blushed slightly, looking like a lovesick puppy. Marius had joined the group after Courfeyrac found him walking around aimlessly in the college, looking dejected. Courfeyrac then asked what had happened to him and after discovering that Marius’s grandfather had kicked him out, Courfeyrac offered him a place to live. It all took place in about five minutes and all of Les Amis had thought Courfeyrac was an idiot for it. Marius had grown on them, however, and earned Enjolras’s respect after Marius told them that he had gotten kicked out because he didn’t agree with his grandfather’s political views or the way he spent his money on exploiting the poor instead of helping them. Marius was incredibly idealistic, more so than Enjolras even, and often got lost in theory without seeming to notice what would or wouldn’t be practical in the real world. 

After Marius came Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet. “But, ‘Chetta, I really do think I might be developing pneumonia. My t-shirt was wet for a whole hour before I could change it and now I’m coughing a lot and I’m tired and my muscles ache and-” Musichetta put her hand on his cheek lovingly to cut him off and forced him to look her in the eye.

“Joly, you do not have pneumonia. Your shirt was only a little damp from rain and you were wearing your jacket over it anyway, you’re fine.” She then gave his mouth a small kiss and smiled at him. Bossuet gave Joly them a wide smile and reached out to take Joly’s hand.

Musichetta then went up to Enjolras and felt his forehead, Enjolras swatted at her hand and settled deeper into the couch, “I don’t have a fever, ‘Chetta, I’m just tired.”

Musichetta used the same hand to slap his arm softly, “You shouldn’t be hosting a meeting if you’re so tired, you just had chemo today.”

“And I’ll feel worse tomorrow.” Enjolras insisted and then added quietly, “I know the drill, Musichetta, you don’t need to worry.”

“He can barely stand for five minutes without feeling fatigued.” Combeferre informed her, sitting down next to Enjolras on the couch. 

Musichetta shot Enjolras a pointed look and said, “I’ve half a mind to throw everyone out and force you to rest.”

Enjolras gave her his best smile, “But you won’t because you’re just as interested in this next rally as I am.” He then ran a hand through his hair, a great chunk of it coming out in his hand. Enjolras stared at it and felt his shoulder drop a little.

Musichetta took the hair from his hand and gave him a reassuring smile, “Just mean’s the chemo’s working.” She kissed Enjolras’s cheek and walked off to throw away the hair. Enjolras had lost all his hair twice before, but that didn’t make it easier a third time. It was visual representation of what he was going through, and though it would be obvious he was sick soon (when he starts losing weight and becoming sickly pale), this was always sort of the first step for him. He would have to shave it soon, it was easier to deal with the falling hair that way. 

A hand on his shoulder pulled him back from his thoughts, it was Combeferre and he was looking worriedly and his best friend. He did recognize that Enjolras wouldn’t want to talk about it right at that moment so he decided that distracting Enjolras would work for now. “Have you finished the speech?” And then Enjolras was talking about all he was missing, facts that needed to be re-checked, and asking if Combeferre could proof-read it for him later. 

Courfeyrac, standing further away, had seen everything. He whispered to Bahorel, “Do you think he’ll be okay?” It was one of the rare moments when Courfeyrac was completely serious. 

Bahorel bit his lip and looked over at the blond leader, who had dark bags under his eyes and already looked physically weaker. “He beat it twice before.” Bahorel shrugged, “I think he can do it again.” 

“I hope so.” Courfeyrac said and looked away from the blond as the door swung open and Éponine walked in. Éponine was the girl-next-door kind of pretty, which worked since she was the most obvious girl-next-door any of Les Amis had ever seen. Her wavy brown hair wasn’t really anything special, but her face was quite pretty. She was tanned and had a nice smile and dimples on both her cheeks. Everyone could tell she was infatuated with Marius, except Marius that is, but she thought she was rather discreet about it. They all knew her home life wasn’t the best, and they all tried to help her as much as they could by offering her places to stay on most nights. She wouldn’t leave home permanently though, she couldn’t abandon her little brother, Gavroche. 

“What’d I miss?” She asked as she went to sit next to Marius on the kitchen table, smiling at him dreamily. 

“Meeting hasn’t started yet.” Combeferre replied from his place on the couch.  “We were waiting for you.”

“Oh” Éponine smiled at him softly, “Thanks.” 

Combeferre nodded and then gestured for everyone to go gather around the couch. “So as we all know,” Enjolras started but then there was a hesitant knock on the door. “Is anyone missing?” Enjolras asked, looking around, but he already knew that no one was and none of his friends ever knocked anyway, well, except for Marius.

“Forgot to tell you,” Bahorel said as he went to open the door, “Invited a friend of mine, he seems pretty interested in politics and all those causes and stuff.” Bahorel opened the door to reveal a young man with curly brown hair stuffed under a newsboy hat. 

“Everyone,” Bahorel said, slinging his arm around the lankier boy’s shoulders (everyone looked lanky next to Bahorel) “This is Feuilly, he’s a bartender at my favorite bar. I thought he might enjoy these meetings so please try not to bore him to death.” 

“Hi,” Feuilly said, looking at everyone in the room. They all echoed back their ‘hi’s and Bahorel made the rounds introducing everyone. 

Once all that was finished, Enjolras went back to business. “So there’s this rally coming up in a week, it’s protesting the new law that the state is trying to pass on making it illegal for LGBT couples to adopt children.” He stopped and looked up at Feuilly, “Have you heard of it?” Feuilly nodded silently and Enjolras went on. “This hits closer to home than our other causes since it could potentially affect quite a few of us, myself included. There is a high possibility it will get violent though, so I just want to make sure that all of you who are going know about this.”

“This isn’t our first rodeo, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac said, smirking slightly though Enjolras could see that the potential law made him angry. 

“I know that,” Enjolras said quietly but firmly. “I won’t be able to attend myself though.” He shot an accusatory glance at Combeferre who simply shrugged but Enjolras understood that it meant ‘ _even if I didn’t disapprove of it, you would still be too tired to go’_. The rest of the group nodded but Feuilly looked slightly confused. Enjolras started to explain for his sake, “I just started chemotherapy and will be in the middle of my treatments, it makes me too tired to even walk around my own apartment, much less a rally.” There was a clear note of resentment in Enjolras’s tone and it made some of Les Amis cringe, once again remembering that their great leader was suffering from a life-threatening disease. 

Feuilly raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, “I’m sorry to hear that.” He said sincerely, not with pity though, which Enjolras highly appreciated. “Where is this protest being held?” Feuilly asked and successfully moved the conversation back to the matter at hand. 

Feuilly couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. How unfair it was that this young man, a good man, was dying when he was one of the few people who actually took action to try to make the world better. How this Enjolras, who was probably exhausted, still took time in the middle of his treatments to organize things like this. At that moment Feuilly developed a great deal of respect for the young revolutionary and made a mental note to ask Bahorel when the next meeting was. 

It wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about though, he was also thinking about late nights spent in the hospital as a child, watching his mom try to fight for her life. It brought back memories of sitting beside her as she slowly forgot everything she had ever known. It made him remember how he had to tell her everything about herself, about her deceased husband, about himself when she started to forget him as well. He had to remind her that she was sick and couldn’t just go home whenever she wanted to. He tried to remind her of everything, but eventually she just stopped breathing and then she was gone. 

Feuilly hoped with all of his heart that the same wouldn’t happen to Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write for some reason, and I still don't completely like how it turned out. It'll end up the same if I re-write it though, so it's staying this way.
> 
> Oh and that day had been Enjolras's second round of chemo, he gets one treatment weekly. (I'm trying to make how much time has passed between chapters obvious but I forget to sometimes so)
> 
> Also, I don't really have a place in mind as to where this story takes place (in my head, it is in the east coast of the USA but yeah idk what specific place). And I'm terrible at keeping up with current events and new laws that are being passed and stuff like that, so I'm just going to be making stuff up mostly.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated :)


	5. Flashbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire experiences flashbacks
> 
> Jehan and Grantaire have a talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of rape (nothing is explicit but still) and self-harm**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Grantaire had gone three weeks without cutting, and his head felt ready to explode. Grantaire decided that three weeks was enough, and started ransacking his closet in search of his razors. He had been pissed drunk the last time he had used them, he had no idea how he even managed then but stopped thinking about it as soon as he found the box. Feuilly didn’t know about these, he took great care for there to not be any in the house. Not that it really mattered to Grantaire, he could use knifes or scissors if he really felt like it, but he preferred his razors. 

He went and locked himself in the bathroom, even though Feuilly shouldn’t be home from that meeting he went to, with the same group as last week. Feuilly had invited Grantaire to come along with him but Grantaire gave him some half-assed excuse about wanting to finish a painting of his (there was no painting). 

_Rough hands were on his hips, pushing him to his knees. He was gagged and his hands and feet were tied, Grantaire couldn’t move. He tried to scream through the gag as he felt something against his back. “Don’t move now.” That sick voice whispered into his ear. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”_

Grantaire gripped his head and slid down against the bathroom wall, trying to keep his tears at bay. He raise his razor to his wrist, his hand shaky, and pressed down and to the side fast. The pain was a relief. His mind slowly moved from focusing on the flashbacks to focusing on the new pain, but not completely. 

_“Don’t worry now, it’ll feel good.”_

“Get out of my head!” Grantaire yelled out-loud and pressed harder against the razor, going deeper and deeper until he started to feel dizzy. He didn’t stop then though, he kept going and going. Grantaire wanted to bleed until he passed out, he wanted to bleed until he didn’t feel anything.

_“Fucking faggot. Claiming that this is what you want, that this is what you like, then just begging for me to stop. What the fuck is wrong with you?”_

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Grantaire cried, his vision blurring, from tears or blood loss, he wasn’t sure. 

The apartment door opened and Feuilly walked in, the meeting had been cut short since Enjolras fell asleep in the middle of a speech. “R, I’m back.” He called out into the apartment, Grantaire didn’t hear him though.

Back in the bathroom, Grantaire was hitting his head against the wall, trying to make it stop, make himself pass out. 

“Grantaire?” Feuilly called out as he walked into Grantaire’s room. The closet was a mess (more so than the rest of the room) and warning bells immediately went off in Feuilly’s head. He ran to the bathroom and tried to open the door, finding it locked. Feuilly slammed his fists into the door, “Grantaire! Open the door.” Then Feuilly heard the thumping coming from inside the bathroom, and barely muffled sobs.

Feuilly went to the hall closet and got the key that would open the bathroom, he had had to use it more than once recently. Once he got the door open, he could see Grantaire.

Grantaire looked up, his arms still bleeding severely, Feuilly wondered if some of those would need stitches, and just cried harder. “Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me. Just leave me alone.” Grantaire begged and backed up until he hit the bathtub. 

“Grantaire, I’m not going to hurt you.” Feuilly kneeled down and picked up the bloodied razor, dropping it into the sink. “It’s me, it’s Feuilly. Your roommate.” Feuilly reminded him gently, slowly walking towards him. “It’s alright, I just want to help you.”

“Feuilly?” Grantaire said softly, blinking up at him, his eyes trying to focus. 

“Yes, it’s me.” Feuilly kneeled down next to Grantaire. He took the towel off the rack and wrapped Grantaire’s arm in it, trying to stanch the bleeding. “Focus on me, R, I need you to look at me.” Grantaire’s eyes stayed on his roommate, but they weren’t completely focused. “I think we need to go to the hospital, some of these cuts are pretty deep and you might need stitches, so I need you to stand up ok.” 

Grantaire quickly shook his head and yanked his arm back, hugging it to his chest. “No, no hospital.”

Grantaire had started shaking again so Feuilly quickly backtracked, “Alright, okay, I won’t take you to the hospital.” Grantaire started to still. “But at least let me bandage these up, you don’t want them getting infected.” 

“Later, later.” Grantaire whispered, leaning his head on Feuilly’s shoulder. 

“Okay.” Feuilly replied, then he started talking about everything and nothing, trying to keep Grantaire from slipping into whatever state he’d been in when Feuilly walked in. Feuilly had seen Grantaire like this before, numerous times over the last year, and was pretty sure he knew what had happened to his roommate, but Grantaire had never told him himself and had changed the subject whenever Feuilly tried to ask about it. 

When Feuilly got to talking about that nights meeting, and the rally he was supposed to be going to the next day, he asked Grantaire if he wanted to come with him. Feuilly only had to work a short shift at a shop in the morning and then he was free, Grantaire had work that Saturday as well (since he didn’t need to go to the outpatient centre on weekends) but it was before the rally too. “Do you really think that rally will accomplish anything?” Grantaire asked, sounding more like himself than he had since Feuilly walked in.

“I don’t know.” Feuilly said honestly, “I’ve never really participated in one. But it’s supposed to, and protest’s have worked before.”

Grantaire nearly laughed at that but agreed to go in the end. After a minute or so of silence, Feuilly got up to look for the first aid kit that was stowed under the bathroom sink. “Are you going to let me bandage your arm now, most of the bleeding should’ve stopped.” 

Grantaire shrugged and held out his arm, “Sure, but I can do it myself, you know.” 

“Your work is sloppy.” Feuilly replied and started rummaging through the first aid kit.

“Is not.” Grantaire mumbled quietly, earning a smile from Feuilly, which he nearly returned. Feuilly got Grantaire to stand up and led him to the sink, where he started running cold water over the cuts. Grantaire hissed at the sting and clenched his teeth but didn’t complain. After the larger of the cuts were barely bleeding anymore, Feuilly started applying butterfly closures to them, then he applied the gauze around Grantaire’s arm, making it tight but not enough to hurt, just to hold. 

“Remember to change those tomorrow,” Feuilly said, taking the bloodied towel and dropping it in the hamper, making a mental note to do laundry the next night. 

Grantaire nodded and headed out of the bathroom, “I will.” The he stopped and looked at his roommate for a second, who was busy washing his hands. “And thanks, Feuilly.”

Feuilly gave him a small smile, “It’s no problem, R.” 

Grantaire walked off to his room and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~*~*~*~

Grantaire woke to his phone ringing incessantly in his ear. “Why the fuck didn’t I put this on silent?” He grumbles as he scrambles for it. “Hello?” He answers groggily.

“R?” Jehan’s voice says.

“Jehan, it’s three in the morning.” Grantaire says in reply, he leans back though, as conversations with Jehan always tend to be pretty long. His arm is burning, but it’s only to be expected.

“I’m aware of the time, R.” Jehan replied and Grantaire could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“Okay, smartass, want to tell me _why_ you’re calling me at three in the morning?”

Jehan sighed, “I didn’t have time to use the phone during the day today but I really needed to talk to you. Are you mad?”

Now Grantaire sighed, “No, Jehan, I’m not mad. What’s up?”

“Okay, so you know how I’ve been here for 6 weeks, right?” Grantaire _mhm-_ ed to let Jehan know that he was listening. “Right, and you know how they said that if I managed to eat all my meals for one week straight then they would start planning an outpatient program for me.” Jehan didn’t wait for Grantaire to reply this time, “Well I did it! I did it, so I’m going to be out of here in a couple of days.” 

Grantaire smiled, “That’s fantastic, Jehan. Do you know where you’re going to stay.”  Grantaire knew next to nothing about Jehan’s home life, only that his mother had died when he was eighteen, nothing about his dad or other family. Grantaire didn’t even know if Jehan went to college, had a job, an apartment, or roommate. It just hadn’t really come up in their conversations.

“No, actually,” Jehan took a deep breath, “My roommate kicked me out after I got stuck here, not wanting to deal with me apparently.” Grantaire suddenly felt very grateful for Feuilly, more so than he had in the last few hours. “I’m also pretty sure I’m fired from my old job. I don’t know, life just kind of seems to stop when you’re in here, you know?” 

So Jehan was homeless and jobless. “Do you go to college?” Grantaire asked, a bit hesitantly.

“Yeah.” Jehan replied, and it turned out that it was the same college Grantaire attended. “I’ve got a scholarship for that, I’m glad break hasn’t ended yet so I don’t have any work to make-up.”

“Well,” Grantaire started, “I share an apartment with this other art student, Feuilly, I think I’ve told you about him. Anyway, we have a pull out couch, and it’s not a half bad place to sleep. I can talk to him about you staying here if you want.” Before Jehan could answer Grantaire added, “I can also talk to my boss about getting you a job, it’s a coffee shop, not much, but the tips are great.”

“Really?” Jehan asked in a small voice. “R, if you could do that for me, that would be-” 

Grantaire cut him off before he could finish, “It’s no problem, Jehan. I know you’d do it if the situation were reversed.” And Jehan would, without a second thought; he was a kind soul.

“Thank you so much.” Jehan said simply, and Grantaire could tell that even trying to do this meant the world to him.

“Like I said, no problem at all.” Grantaire yawned rather loudly. “Now if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of a fantastic dream.” 

Jehan laughed, “Okay, R, go back to sleep.” 

“Good night.” Grantaire murmured as he hung up, practically half unconscious already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am sorry for the things I do to R
> 
> ~~i swear e and R will meet again soon ok~~
> 
> And I'm trying to stick to an alternating days updating schedule, or whatever it's called. Anyway, it really does still depend on how far ahead I've written though (I suck at writing ahead but yeah I'm trying)  
> Feedback is always appreciated :)


	6. The Three Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three times Enjolras was diagnosed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Enjolras had been at his yearly pediatrician visit. The doctor had just put the stethoscope to his his back, underneath his shirt when he suddenly stopped. “Enjolras, do you mind taking your shirt off for a minute.” Enjolras was a bit confused but complied, wanting to get the visit over with more than anything.

"Is everything alright, doctor?” Enjolras’s mom had asked from the corner of the room, where she had been filing her nails. 

The doctor didn’t speak right away, he was examining Enjolras’s back. “Enjolras,” The doctor finally spoke, “How long have you had that sore throat?”

“About a week or more, I’m not sure.” Thirteen-year-old Enjolras was very lanky and skinny. He shivered at the doctor’s cold hands on his back. “Why?”

The doctor ignored Enjolras’s question and instead asked another of his own, “How did you get these bruises, Enjolras?” Enjolras’s back was covered in purple bruises along his spine.

“I- I don’t know.” Enjolras said worriedly. 

“Have you been feeling tired lately, as in more than usual?” Enjolras shrugged one shoulder, even though he had been feeling tired, very tired. “What about nosebleeds? Have you gotten a couple of those recently?” Enjolras nodded hesitantly.

“What’s this about, doctor?” Enjolras’s mother suddenly cut in from her corner.

Once again the doctor ignored her. “Have you noticed anything else? Besides there bruises on your back, has anything else happened?”

Enjolras sighed and hesitantly admitted, “I get really cold all the time, and sometimes really dizzy for no reason.”

The doctor nodded, “Okay, you can put your shirt back on now.” As Enjolras did that the doctor finally turned to face Enjolras’s mother. “Would you mind stepping outside with me, for a moment?” He asked her.

“No.” Enjolras said immediately. “You’re just going to talk about me, whatever it is, you can say it right here.” Enjolras was obviously trying to sound brave, but her just sounded like a scared little kid. The doctor’s questions had him worried and he couldn’t wait to know what it was all about.

“What is it?” Enjolras’s mother demanded, rather rudely.

The doctor searched for something in his desk drawer for a minute before pulling out a business card. “I would recommend Enjolras visit this doctor, since I can’t be sure.” He paused for a minute, letting her read the card. “He should go in for a blood test and whatever other medical exams the oncologist recommends.” Another pause. “Your son is showing some symptoms which are associated with cancer. It might not be, but those bruises on his back have me worried.” Enjolras’s mom looked shocked. Enjolras was looking down at his hands, swinging his feet. “Just give that oncologist a call, and set up an appointment. He’ll be able to tell you more than I can.” 

That’s exactly what she did the moment she got home. A week later, Enjolras, his mom, and his dad were off to meet with the oncologist. That week had been the equivalent of hell for thirteen-year-old Enjolras, who hated any and all types of medical tests and evaluations. He had gone in for an MRI scan, a CT scan, a PET scan, and a blood test since the oncologist needed a current CBC of Enjolras’s to examine. 

That was the day Enjolras had gotten then news that he did, in fact, have Leukemia. Enjolras missed most of the conversation, only hearing a ringing noise as the oncologist moved on to statistics and possible treatments. Enjolras left the oncologist’s office with a plan for chemotherapy and a heavy heart. 

~*~*~*~

Enjolras was in the middle of his 11th grade history class. He was arguing with his teacher about how the June Rebellions were a very important part of French history and not pointless, like the teacher was suggesting, when he first started feeling lightheaded. He ignored this for a good half hour, he even gave up the argument with his teacher, something that was unheard of for Enjolras. His head was pounding, the room was spinning, and Enjolras felt bile rise up in his throat. He could do nothing about it, it all felt too fast. Just then, Enjolras doubled over to the side of his desk and vomited. Someone in the classroom screamed, another student ran out the door for the nurse, the teacher asked if he was alright. That’s when Enjolras’s nose started bleeding and his vision blurred severely. 

“I’m fine.” He tried to say, but it came out as a weak moan instead. Enjolras tried to stand up and promptly fell to the ground. The school nurse was there by then, telling someone to call an ambulance. It was all confusing to Enjolras, he couldn’t get his bearings. Another student lifted up Enjolras, at the nurse’s instruction and was carrying him out the door, he was struggling half-heartedly trying to speak. He figured he passed out somewhere between the classroom and the nurses office. 

When Enjolras woke in the hospital a few hours later, it was to the face of his oncologist. Enjolras’s head was pounding and he was desperate for water. The beeps and whirs of the machines around him felt all too familiar and he wanted nothing more than to get out and run home. 

“Water” Enjolras managed to croak out. The doctor handed him a glass that had been resting on the nearby table and Enjolras downed it slowly. 

The oncologist, Dr. Lamarque, waited patiently for him to finish, only speaking after he handed the glass back. “How do you feel, Enjolras?”

“Horrible” is all Enjolras could manage to say right at that moment, his throat felt like it had been scrapped raw.

“I’m sorry to inform you of this,” Dr. Lamarque said and Enjolras closed his eyes, “I suspect the cancer is back.” He took a pause, maybe to let Enjolras process that. “I can’t be completely sure yet, we still need to run all the tests and scans, but I suggest preparing yourself for having to come in to receive treatment soon.”

All Enjolras could do was nod numbly as the doctor nodded once and left the room. 

It was the first time Enjolras had cried in years, probably since when he was fourteen and informed that he was in remission. He was generally a hopeful person, always thinking the best would come, but in that moment, Enjolras let all his fears take over him. No one else came into his room that night, except for the occasional nurse who came to check his vitals or offer him food, maybe ask if he wanted to see anyone. No one mentioned the tears that were freely running down the boy’s face. 

~*~*~*~

Enjolras always woke up early, no matter what. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t gone to bed until five in the morning, it didn’t matter that he had a cold, it didn’t matter that he had a free day, he was always awake before eight in the morning at the latest. 

So when Combeferre woke up at ten in the morning one day, to find that his roommate’s shoes were still by the door, and that he couldn’t see any of the tell-tale signs of an all-nighter being pulled, he was immediately worried. Combeferre hurried to Enjolras’s room, trying to convince himself that it was nothing, that his best friend was probably only working on something for school, or maybe he didn’t feel like coming out of his room yet. Combeferre then remembered that Enjolras was supposed to have a 7 a.m. class that day, and the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew.

Combeferre pushed the door open to find Enjolras still sleeping. He was wrapped up tightly in his sheets and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Enjolras tossed his head back and forth and Combeferre coud hear his teeth chattering. He rushed forward and took hold of Enjolras’s shoulders, trying to shake him awake. Enjolras was usually a pretty light sleeper, but even after Combeferre shook him for a solid minute he continued to sleep. “Enjolras, please wake up.” Combeferre half-whispered to him, seriously considering slapping him. Before that though, Combeferre felt his forehead, and as he had thought, Enjolras was burning up. Then he pulled back the sheets and had to stop himself from cursing out loud, there were bruises all along Enjolras’s ripcage. Combeferre touched them softly and, lo and behold, Enjolras actually woke up at that. 

Enjolras mumbled something incomprehensible as Combeferre sat him up and rummaged through his drawers to find him a sweatshirt. When he finally did, he rushed back to his best friend’s side and helped him pull it on. “I’m going to help you stand up.” Combeferre said solemnly, his tone leaving no room for arguments. Enjolras could only barely nod as he draped his arm around Combeferre’s shoulders. Combeferre heaved him up, half carrying him out of the room and to the entrance, where he urged Enjolras to put on his shoes. 

“Where’re we goin’?” Enjolras slurred as Combeferre lead him outside and to the car, never feeling more thankful for their first floor apartment than he did at that moment. 

“Hospital” Combeferre replied shortly and sped the whole way there. 

Combeferre parked haphazardly in front of the emergency room and ran to help Enjolras out and inside. Once there, Combeferre helped Enjolras into a chair and nearly ran to the reception desk. “My friend has a high fever and he needs medical attention immediately.” He said without preamble. The nurse, who simply looked unconcerned, just handed him a clipboard with about a thousand papers to fill out. Combeferre just stared at the nurse, waiting for him to do something, call someone to help Enjolras. “He’s a recurring cancer patient.” Combeferre added and that seemed to wake up the nurse, who stood up, grabbed a wheelchair, and asked Combeferre where Enjolras was. Combeferre lead the way and helped Enjolras get into the chair, watching silently as the nurse wheeled him away. 

Combeferre called all of their friends, most of who promises that they would be there after class (which Combeferre had completely forgotten about) and some even offer to skip, but he assured them that after class was fine since there was nothing they could do. After that, Combeferre headed outside to move his car and try to calm himself. He didn’t really succeed. 

When he walked back inside, the nurse was sitting behind the desk once again, and Combeferre asked for the papers he needed to fill out for his best friend. 

Hours later, Enjolras woke when a nurse was checking his vitals. “Good afternoon,” the nurse said to him when she noticed he was awake. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Fine” Enjolras replied hesitantly, he didn’t remember how he got there. “How did I get here?” He asks as she walked off to look for something.

“Your friend brought you in, you had a terrible fever.” She came back with a thermometer in hand and gestured for him to open his mouth, which he did, knowing that trying to resist would be pointless. “But it’s gone down considerably.” She said after checking the thermometer.

“May I go home, then?” He asked, trying not to sound rude. 

“Sorry, honey.” The nurse said and Enjolras grimaced, “You’re being kept here for observation, and I’ve also been informed that you’re to meet with your oncologist in the morning.”

So Combeferre had seen the bruises then, Enjolras thought. He had been feeling foul for weeks, but he had been trying to convince himself it was nothing to worry about, just a cold coming on. Then he had seen the bruises again and he also got nosebleeds quite frequently. Enjolras knew he should have said something, he wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t. Hope. That had been the reason, he had hoped it was nothing, hoped it would go away. Deep down, though, he knew it wouldn’t and that something like this would happen. 

“There are a lot of people waiting for you out there,” The nurse informed him, “Do you want to see any of them?”

“Combeferre” was all Enjolras said. The nurse nodded and walked out of the room, coming back a few minutes later with Combeferre in tow.

“Thank you” Combeferre said to the nurse as she walked out the door. Combeferre turned to look at Enjolras with a mix of hurt and anger on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was anything serious.” Enjolras answered with a shrug. 

“Spare me, Enjolras.” Combeferre said, a bit harshly. “The moment you saw those bruises you should’ve said something.”

“Is hope such a bad thing to have?” Enjolras clenched his jaw. “I won’t apologize for hoping for the best.”

Combeferre was quiet for a minute. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know.” Then Combeferre was moving forward and embracing Enjolras, who not only let him, but hugged him back just as tightly. “You scared me, you idiot.”

“Join the club.” Enjolras said, quietly enough that Combeferre almost didn’t hear it, but he did and tightened his arms around him before letting him go and taking the seat beside him. “Who else is out there?”

“Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Joly, Musichetta, Bahorel, Marius, and Éponine.” Combeferre answered, listing them off on his fingers. “Basically, everyone.” Combeferre paused for a minute. “I can tell them all to go home though, you should rest.”

“How long have they been here?” Enjolras asked, ignoring Combeferre’s suggestion. 

“Well, it’s six now, so about three or four hours max.” He answered, “I think all the nurses hate us by now, they’re making so much noise.” Combeferre had a fond smile on his face as he said it, though. 

“How many visitors can I have?” 

“However many you want, you don’t have a limit.” Combeferre sighed, “You want me to get them all?” Enjolras nodded and gave him an innocent smile which Combeferre didn’t buy for a minute. “Fine, but only for a couple of minutes and then you’re resting.” Enjolras’s smile only got wider as Combeferre sighed and walked out of the room to bring his friends.

The first one inside was Joly, who immediately rushed to Enjolras’s side and felt his forehead. Bossuet hurried to his side and pulled his boyfriend away from Enjolras saying, “He’s in a hospital, Joly, they’re taking good care of him here.” Then proceeded to move Joly away from the bed before he could go off about how many germs they were bringing in or something of the sort. 

“Let him go, Bossuet, he won’t do anything.” Musichetta chided gently, striding into the room. She leaned down to kiss Enjolras’s cheek and then said softly, “You should have said something.” And that, somehow, made Enjolras feel incredibly guilty but cared for at the same time.

Courfeyrac strode in and said, “Are you decent under there? Did they put you in a hospital gown? Can I see?” He had an excited grin on his face and Enjolras clutched the sheets to his chest. 

Bahorel walked in after him, slapped Courfeyrac on the back, then turned to look at Enjolras, “No, but seriously, are you wearing a hospital gown or not?”

“None of your business” Enjolras said defensively, pulling the sheets even higher. 

Courfeyrac leaned over to say something in Bahorel’s ear and then they were both grinning at each other. Then Courfeyrac ran to the bed as Bahorel pulled out his phone and pointed it at him. Courfeyrac then pulled the sheets from Enjolras and proceeded to giggle at the hospital gown Enjolras had been shoved into. Enjolras, in an effort to ignore them both, moved to try and rearrange the pillows behind him. “Woah, wait, hold on and don’t even dare move another inch.” Bahorel said and Enjolras turned back to him, confused. “Man, I love you and all, but I do not need to see your ass.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Courfeyrac says, not even trying to be discreet when he tried to get a look at Enjolras’s, who rolled his eyes at him. 

Combeferre was standing in a corner, looking like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably. Suddenly, Marius stumbled in and Éponine was right behind him. “You look fabulous.” She told Enjolras, her mouth quirking up on one side. 

“Thank you” Enjolras said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he pulled up the sheets again. 

“Well somebody’s a grouch.” Éponine went to stand next to Courfeyrac and Bahorel. “So I’m guessing they told you that you have to stay here tonight then?” Enjolras nodded sullenly, with something that looked suspiciously like a pout on his face. 

“So are you really as bad a patient as Combeferre says?” Marius put in from where he was standing next to Combeferre, who wasn’t even denying that he did say that.

“No” Enjolras started to say as the rest of the group said, “Yes!”

“I feel like I’ve missed something.” Marius said, but Marius usually had missed something. In this case it was the time Enjolras had gotten a cold, Marius had been away for the week and completely missed the fiasco that was trying to get Enjolras to lay on a bed, rest, and make him take his medicine.

“You have.” Couf cut in, but made no indication that he was going to explain what.

“Alright, alright.” Combeferre said suddenly, “You’ve all seen him, he’s awake and alive yes, but he needs rest.” Combeferre simply gave Enjolras a look when he went to deny it. “We’ll see him tomorrow, let’s leave him to sleep.” And with that everyone shuffled out of the room. Enjolras stared frustratedly (and fondly) after them all and nearly forgot about what had just happened. Nearly. 

Then next morning he did meet with Dr. Lamarque, who only told him that he would have to have some tests done to see if the cancer truly was back once more. 

Enjolras didn’t need any of that, he already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a lot longer than I expected it to be.  
> And about "Dr. Lamarque", I just really needed a name for the doctor.  
> And apparently I like angst so ~~i'msorry~~
> 
> Oh and I've only been to an emergency room once before and it was like a 5 hour wait before I was attended. I thought that something like Enjolras's case would get more attention though, so I figured he would get attended quickly.
> 
> Feedback would be awesome :)


	7. The Rally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire attends a rally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

“Come on, Feuilly, he has no where else to go.” Grantaire argued as Feuilly ran around the apartment, trying to find his shoes in the eternal mess that was their home. 

“R, I’ve never met the guy.” Feuilly shot back before searching through his room.

“Of course, you can meet him. Don’t you trust me?” Feuilly only looked at him. “He’s great, you’ll like him.” Feuilly remained silent. “Come on, usually you’re willing to help everyone, what’s this about?”

Feuilly only hesitated for a moment before saying quietly, “How will this affect _you_ , R?” 

Grantaire wouldn’t meet Feuilly’s eyes, “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Feuilly sighed and put on one of the shoes he had found. “We both know you’re not okay, and judging from the fact that this Jehan has been an inpatient for six weeks, he isn’t either.”

“Feuilly, he has no one.” Feuilly looked away from Grantaire, and that’s when he knew that Feuilly would give it a chance. “If something happens then I’ll ask him to find somewhere else, but it’s not permanent. He just needs to get back on his feet.”

Feuilly bit his bottom lip and finally looked at Grantaire, “Okay,” Grantaire’s mouth started to stretch into a smile and Feuilly added, “I’ll meet him, but I’m not promising anything.” 

“Fine, that’s fine, that’s fantastic.” Grantaire was full out smiling now, “You’re going to like him, I promise.” 

Feuilly resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Grantaire practically skipped to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. Feuilly put on his other shoe and grabbed his phone and keys. “See you at the rally, R.” He called out as he walked out the door.

“See you.”

~*~*~*~

“Why did I agree to this?” Grantaire asks himself as he walks around what he supposes is a rally. It’s really just a mess of people holding signs and yelling angrily. Feuilly pats him on the back without much sympathy at all, which Grantaire resents slightly. “So where are these people from your super secret revolutionary meetings?” 

“They’re not super secret.” Feuilly answers, not really paying much attention to Grantaire as he looks around, opting to search for Bahorel since he would be the easiest to spot. “There!” Feuilly says and starts dragging Grantaire by the arm.

Courfeyrac is the first to spot them, “Feuilly!” He calls out, running up to them.

“Hey, Courf,” Feuilly smiles, “This is my roommate, Grantaire.”

Grantaire gives Courfeyrac a hesitant smile, “Call me R.”

“R,” Courfeyrac grinned, “I like it. I’m Courfeyrac.” Then he turned and yelled, “Hey, everyone! This is Grantaire.” He turned back to Grantaire, “Grantaire, this is everyone.”

Feuilly had to try hard not to laugh at the look on Grantaire’s face, but he could tell that Grantaire liked Courfeyrac. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” And much like Bahorel had done on Feuilly’s first meeting, Feuilly pulled Grantaire forward and introduced him to everyone.

“This is Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta.” Feuilly said, pointing to each of them. “They’re pretty cool, I guess.”

“I resent that.” Bossuet told him jokingly, putting one arm over Joly’s shoulders and one around Musichetta’s waist. Feuilly only smiled in return.

“I think you’ve met Bahorel.” Feuilly said when the got to the bulky man, who was trying to force flyers into people’s hands. 

Grantaire only shook his head but took one of his flyers, it was mostly meant to educate people on the bill that was being protested. Then they went on to Combeferre. “I’ve heard your name before.” The young man said when they walked up. 

“Well, I think we go to the same university.” Grantaire said, absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. Feuilly had told him that and more but Grantaire didn’t particularly want to think about the day before, he knew it would be hell if (when) his psychiatrist found out, but he wanted to forget it for now.

“No, that wasn’t it.” Combeferre said and just looked at him for a second while Grantaire tried hard not to fidget with the ends of his sleeves or the bandages beneath them. Then Combeferre snapped his fingers and Grantaire nearly jumped, “Do you know Enjolras?”

Apollo? This guy knew Apollo? Grantaire shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts, “I, uh, I sort of ran into him once like a week ago.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, yeah, he told me about that.” Combeferre smiled at him. Grantaire tried not to think so much, be he couldn’t help but focus on the fact that Enjolras had actually mentioned him to a friend of his, that he actually thought him worthy of mentioning even. “You should come to our next meeting.” Combeferre said suddenly. 

“Um-” Grantaire hesitated. What was he supposed to say? That he thought it was all bullshit and no one could really change the world and the way it was? That a rally wasn’t really worth the trouble since it wouldn’t really get any results? He would’ve said all this, but there was something about Combeferre that stopped him. That and the fact that if he went to this meeting, he would see his Apollo again. “Sure.” Feuilly smirked at Grantaire, but he had no clue why. Grantaire actually hadn’t told Feuilly about his run-in with a god, Jehan was the only one he had mentioned Enjolras to. 

“Well that was easy for you.” Feuilly told Combeferre, “I’ve been trying to convince him to come with me to one since last week.” Yeah, well, that was before Grantaire had known that Enjolras would be there. 

Speaking of, “So, why isn’t Enjolras here then?” Grantaire tried to sound as casual as possible, he didn’t really know the guy after all. 

Combeferre’s smile fell a bit, “He was too sick to come.” He shrugged at the end, trying to pass it off as no big deal. 

It was an outpatient care centre. “Oh” Was all Grantaire said and Feuilly steered him away as Combeferre turned to talk to someone about the bill.

“Enjolras has cancer.” Feuilly said before Grantaire could ask. Grantaire felt his heart stutter slightly, this was surely too exaggerated of a reaction, and only after a conversation that barely lasted a minute the week before. Before he could dwell on it too much though, Feuilly was introducing him to Éponine, Marius, and Costte (who were so obviously infatuated with one another while Éponine looked slightly put-out).

After an hour of just walking around and laughing at the people trying to start chants, the speeches began. Most weren’t really all that great, that was, until Courfeyrac got on the stage. The crowd was enraptured, and Courfeyrac as animated, passionate, and angry, oh so very angry. “Looks like he’s tapping into his inner-Enjolras.” Grantaire heard Bahorel say, and he absentmindedly wondered what he meant. Grantaire, of course, found a thousand things that were wrong with the speech (starting with haw idealistic it was) and would have pointed it out had he not been so impressed at what a good argument it was, it surpassed the others by far.

Combeferre walked up beside Grantaire and said, “That’s Enjolras’s speech.” 

“The one he was obsessing over yesterday?” Feuilly asked and Combeferre nodded. “It’s good.” 

“It’s really good.” Grantaire added, not even realizing he has spoken out-loud. After the speech, there was a moment of silence before the crowd started roaring with at least double the anger, double the passion, double the effort they had put in the hour before. Courfeyrac smiled widely and hopped off the makeshift stage.

“So, I think I did a pretty good imitation of our great leader.” Courfeyrac said as he walked up to Bahorel and fist bumped him.

“You get a 5 out of 10.” Éponine told him, smirking.

“I’d like to see you try to do better.” Courfeyrac crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating, he was failing miserably though.

“Watch me.” Éponine ran onto the stage and actually managed to get the crowd to chant, and chant angrily.

Combeferre had an amused smile on his face, which immediately fell when he saw the police making their way into the crowd. Apparently, the crowd was getting a little too rowdy for their liking, and they were being unnecessarily rough about it, knocking people down as they headed to the stage. Combeferre was the first to move, followed by Bahorel, and then Joly (who was very good in a crisis). “‘Ponine!” Combeferre yelled as he reached the stage and held out his hand, gesturing for her to get down. That’s when she really looked at the crowd and saw the police heading towards them. She took Combeferre’s hand and jumped off the stage just as the first police man reached the group. 

The police man had his taser out and was holding it as if he meant to fire. Bahorel managed to knock it from his hands before he could, and that’s when the fighting started. Combeferre turned and faced Éponine and Joly, “Get the others out of here.” He knew Éponine was good in a fight, really good, but he didn’t want anyone even trying to hurt her.  Joly would be the best to calmly lead the rest of their group into the Musain, where they had agreed to meet if something like this happened. More cops had arrived now and protesters had moved forward to try and fight them. There were more than a few people on the ground already and Combeferre didn’t like where this was going. “Let’s get out of here!” He yelled to Bahorel, who had just knocked down another police man, and the bigger man nodded. They both made a run for it, trying to avoid the fighting that had now spread out. Combeferre could only hope Joly had gotten the rest of them safe and towards their meeting spot as he and Bahorel tried their best not to get knocked down.

~*~*~*~

“So, is this something you guys do often?” Grantaire asked Éponine as they all ran from the scene before they were dragged into a fight.

“Maybe,” She smirked, “It’s quite fun.”

He shook his head at her but started to smile as well, slowing down once they were a block away. “What do we do now? Combeferre and Bahorel are still back there.”

“They’ll be okay.” Éponine said, sounding pretty sure of herself. “We’re just going to the Musain to wait for them, that and good cheap coffee.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Grantaire smiled at her and offered her his arm. “Walk with me, my lady.” He said in a horrible imitation of a british accent. 

Éponine laughed and took his arm, “Why of course, good sir.” Grantaire could tell this was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Combeferre and Bahorel joined them about a half hour after they all reached the café, looking very bruised and very battered. “We got in a fight.” Combeferre said, pulling up a chair, and accepting the ice bag Joly had run off to get for him, and pressing it to his eye. 

Bahorel took the bag Joly was holding out to him and said, “Or five, you know, but who’s counting?” He looked way too gleeful for a guy with bleeding knuckles and a split lip. 

“Why didn’t you just run with Joly and Éponine?” Fuilly asked, taking a sip from his coffee. 

“Because we were trying to distract the police men.” Combeferre sighed, looking down at his phone. 

“What’s up?” asked Éponine, noticing his frown. 

“Enjolras wants to come down here so we can tell him about the rally.” He looked down at his phone again, “In explicit detail apparently.” 

“I thought he could barely walk.” Marius said, good to know that he was still aware of his surroundings despite only having eyes for Cosette. Grantaire took pause at what Marius said. He ran into Enjolras only the week before, could his health really be that precarious already? 

“That’s what I’m trying to remind him of.” Combeferre ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Then his phone vibrated once more. “And now he’s asking if you guys will come over.”

The rest of the group looked around at each other before Bahorel shrugged and said, “We don’t mind.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him.” Combeferre got up and headed towards the counter.

“What’re you doing?” Bossuet asked him, since Combeferre already had a mostly full cup of coffee, courtesy of Musichetta.

“He wants coffee.” He answered simply and Musichetta laughed and said, “Of course he does.”

~*~*~*~

Enjolras had thought it would be a good idea to wait by the door before Combeferre and the rest of his friends arrived. It turned out that no one else thought it was as good an idea as he did, considering he looked like he was about to collapse. “Seriously?” Was all Combeferre said.

“I’ve got him.” Bahorel put Enjolras’s arm around his shoulders and helped him to the couch, ignoring the blond’s protests (which were pointless considering how much Enjolras was actually leaning on Bahorel). Combeferre then handed Enjolras his coffee and went to get more ice for his eye.

Musichetta, Bossuet, Joly, Courfeyrac, Éponine, Marius, Cosette, Feully, and Grantaire all shuffled into the apartment, everyone but Grantaire making themselves at home. “So what happened?” is what Enjolras started to ask when he spotted Grantaire, still standing by the door. “Grantaire?” He asked, as if he was uncertain of who he was. Grantaire wasn’t really focusing on that though, more on the fact that Apollo actually remembered his name. 

“Hi”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE THE TWO SIDES OF THE STORY FINALLY INTERTWINED WHY YES THEY ARE (for the most part)
> 
> Meaning I can now start on different PoVs (okay I know I switch PoVs a lot anyway but I mean to make certain chapters revolve around other characters)  
> Maybe  
> Not yet though  
> Idk
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also I refuse to call this a cliffhanger considering Rick Riordan is a person that exists~~
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback would be awesome :)


	8. Les Amis de l'ABC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras talk  
> And Grantaire and Jehan talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've used this chapter name for ch.4 probably but shhh  
> I also wasn't lying when I said I sucked at summaries, I mean just look at it
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

“Hi” Grantaire actually managed to say, and sounded pretty normal while he was at it.

“What’re you doing here?” Enjolras asked, not unkindly. And that’s when Grantaire actually stopped thinking long enough to look at him. He had to try not to let the surprise he was feeling show on his face, since Enjolras now had no hair. _He must’ve shaved it_ , Grantaire thought, _hair can’t fall out that quickly or neatly, can it?_ He did look sick, Grantaire could see that. Only a week had passed since he had seen Enjolras, with hair and walking, at the outpatient centre and now here he was, bald, barely able to walk, with dark bags under his eyes, and looking thinner.

“He’s my roommate.” Feuilly said off-handedly. “I convinced him to go to the rally with me and then we all ran away from the cops together.” 

“It’s was a bonding experience, really.” Bossuet added. 

“You can sit down, you know.” Combeferre said, walking up behind him.

That prompted Grantaire to move and he sat on the armrest of the armchair Feuilly was sitting in, which happened to be across from Enjolras. “So the rally...” Enjolras looked pointedly at Combeferre, who was once again pressing ice to his eye.

“You were right about it getting violent.” Combeferre started and then told Enjolras everything, from the great turnout to how many people were protesting the protest to Courfeyrac delivering his speech. 

“And I put forth my best Enjolras face and it was badass, if I do say so myself.” Courfeyrac cut it, Éponine didn’t really try to hide her laugh at all and Courfeyrac mock-glared at her. “And then ‘Ponine got on the stage and somehow managed to make the crowd even rowdier, and then the police stepped in, and then we all ran, but somewhere along the way Bahorel and ‘Ferre got into a fight, and we all lived happily ever after, any questions?”

Enjolras was shaking his head at Courfeyrac but he had a slight smile on his face, he’d just ask Combeferre if there was something else he should know later. “The police doing that though, fighting the protesters so roughly, that could actually work in our favor.” Enjolras said and Grantaire laughed before he could stop it. “What?” A slight frown appeared on Enjolras’s face.

Grantaire shrugged, “How many times have you seen the media actually take the protesters’ side?” Before Enjolras could reply, he went on, “The media is the government’s pet, and on an issue this controversial, I’ll bet that most stations are taking law enforcement’s side.” 

Enjolras sat up straighter, “There was no reason for the police to act the way they did, the people who organized the rally had all the permits required, surely the public can see that.” Grantaire didn’t try to hide his smirk, he really loved that spark that had appeared in Enjolras’s eyes. 

“That may be, but it doesn’t mean people actually care. They see and believe what the media tells them, and the media paints protesters as the bad guys and that’s that.” Grantaire’s eyes were on Enjolras’s the entire time.

“Law enforcement is taking advantage of their power, this isn’t something the media will just let slide. Either way, it happens often enough that people notice it whether or not it is at a protest. And those protesters? They will go home today and tell their friends how the rally went, and they’ll speak of how the police unjustly intervened and used violence when it was not called for. And those friends will tell their friends, and the people will rise and realize their power; power that the government has tried to keep from them but they still possess.” Enjolras was gesturing with his hands as he spoke, by the time he finished he looked ready to start a revolution.

Grantaire didn’t waver though, “Do you honestly think the people actually care that much? The world is going to shit, that’s no secret. Out government and the people who run it are corrupt, that’s nothing new. The people, people who _let_ themselves be ruled over by this sad excuse for a republic, simply don’t care. The people who could actually do something about it don’t want to, and the one who want to don’t have, and will never get, the means to do something about it. It’s just the way things are.” The rest of the room was quiet, looking between the two, who seem to have forgotten that they weren’t the only ones in the room.

“Are you always this cynical?” Enjolras asked, staring at him.

Grantaire smiled his self-deprecating smile, “Always have been and always will be.”

That was when Combeferre stood up to take his ice pack back to the kitchen and the two seemed to remember that they were not alone. Enjolras almost felt normal again, right at that moment, not like he was sick and possibly dying. “Well, that was interesting.” Bossuet finally broke the silence.

Grantaire still hadn’t looked away from Enjolras, not really caring that he was staring. His beautiful hair was shaved as close to his head as he could get, but his eyes looked the same. His clothes might look like they were hanging on him a bit, but he still managed to look unfairly attractive, if terribly exhausted. 

“Does anyone want anything?” Combeferre called from the kitchen. 

“Beer!” Came Bahorel’s immediate reply and Grantaire had to laugh, finally tearing away his gaze from Enjolras.

Grantaire stood up from his post on Feuilly’s armrest and said, “I should get going.”

“Where to?” Feuilly asked him as he walked to the front door. 

“I promised Jehan I’d visit him today.” Grantaire shrugged, then walked out the door with only a wave to the rest of the room.

Joly was the only one who seemed to have noticed Feuilly’s sigh, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Feuilly shook his head, but he went on, “I’m just worried about him.”

“How come?” Musichetta cut in, she was leaning her head on Bossuet’s shoulder, absentmindedly running her fingers through Joly’s hair. 

Feuilly almost smiled, “I don’t think R would appreciate me speaking about him while he isn’t here.”

“He looks sad.” Marius commented, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Feuilly let out a short, humorless laugh, “That’s an understatement.” They could all tell that Feuilly wouldn’t say more than that so they dropped the subject.

Enjolras kept thinking about it though, this new cynic who was joining their group, because Enjolras had no doubts he would (or maybe he just really wanted to argue with him again). He was sure Combeferre had probably already invited him to the next meeting, but he kind of wanted to do it himself. “Hey, Feuilly?” Enjolras said, not realizing that he had been interrupting a conversation. Feuilly just raised an eyebrow at him. “Could you give me Grantaire’s phone number?” Feuilly frowned slightly but nodded before reciting it from memory. “Thanks” Enjolras said before typing it into his phone, not noticing the glances he was getting. 

Shortly after that Enjolras stood up to use the bathroom, glaring at everyone who even looked as if they wanted to help him. Once he had closed the door Courfeyrac said, “So did anyone else notice the sexual tension between him and R or...?”

“I really think that was Enjolras’s weird way of flirting.” Bahorel nodded. 

Éponine rolled her eyes, “Guys this is Enjolras we’re talking about here.” She reminded them. “The guy wouldn’t notice someone thought he was hot unless they explicitly told him so. He probably thought it was just an exchange of ideas.” 

Courfeyrac smirked and said, “You didn’t deny the sexual tension.” And at that moment Enjolras returned and every person in the room was staring at him.

“Everything alright?” He asked as he sat down, trying to ignore the tiredness he felt at just that short trip. 

Courfeyrac gave him what he probably thought was an innocent smile, “Everything’s fine and dandy.” Enjolras frowned slightly but only settled himself into the couch. Slowly, conversations started up around him again, but he felt himself drifting off. Before that though, he sent a quick text. Then he pocketed his phone and fell asleep. 

~*~*~*~

“R, R, R!” Jehan jumped up and down in his seat when his friend came into the room. 

“Jehan, Jehan, Jehan!” Grantaire repeated, a small grin on his face. 

“Did you...” Jehan left the rest unsaid and blushed slightly. 

Grantaire’s smile got bigger, “Yes, I talked to Feuilly. He said he wanted to meet you first, but I can almost guarantee you a place to stay.” 

“That’s only reasonable.” Grantaire could tell Jehan was trying to keep his smile in check.

“You’re allowed to be happy about it, you know.” That made Jehan finally let himself smile. Grantaire sat on the chair beside him and took a piece of paper, sketching absentmindedly, “When do you get out of here?”

“On Monday.” Jehan looked around the room, “I can’t wait to leave. I mean, the people are nice enough, but I miss the real world.” Jehan wrote something on his own piece of paper. Grantaire knew it was supposed to be used for drawing or painting, but no one ever chided Jehan for deciding to write poetry instead, especially since his poems were so beautiful; it was his own kind of art.

Grantaire shrugged, “I can assure you that not much has changed.” 

“Yeah, but you were only in here a week.” Jehan reminded him. “I’ve been here for six. It gets so tiring, looking at the same walls everyday, doing the same thing every day.”

Grantaire nodded, that week had been hell for him, he had no idea how Jehan made it through six. He opened his mouth a few times before saying, “Listen, Jehan, I think we need to go over a few things before you come stay with me.” Jehan nodded, he had been expecting something like this, and gestured for Grantaire to go on. Grantaire sighed, “I think it’s safe to say that we’re both sufficiently fucked up. Now, I don’t know how that’s actually going to work out with both of us in the apartment and how we’re going to deal with each other or if we can help each other or any of that.” He stopped to take a breath. “But I’m willing to try. And I know that relapse is very probable,” Oh did Grantaire know, “but come talk to me before you do anything, please?” 

Jehan nodded and said, “I promise, but only if you do the same.” Grantaire bit his lip and nodded. 

“I can do that,” He wasn’t sure if he actually would though, “And another thing. If you’re having a bad day, tell me.” And as he saw that Jehan was about to answer, he quickly went on, “And yes, I’ll tell you too. And if we’re both having bad days, let’s make a pact to sort of lean on each other, god that sounds cheesy,” Jehan smiled, “And not do anything stupid.” Grantaire finished.

“It sounds reasonable to me.” Jehan leaned his head on Grantaire’s shoulder and watched quietly as he sketched. “You’re really good.” Jehan commented.

Grantaire shrugged, jostling Jehan’s head a bit, “It’s nothing special.” Grantaire was sketching Jehan, as he was the day he had first met him, with flowers in his hair. He passed the now-finished sketch to Jehan and took another piece of paper. This time he was drawing Enjolras (again) but just as he had seen him today, with fire in his eyes. 

Just then, Grantaire’s phone beeped, earning him a glare from one of the nurses. He turned down the volume before looking at the text.

**Unknown: Hi, Grantaire, this is Enjolras. I wanted to invite you to our next meeting, they’re held on Fridays here at the apartment. I hope you can make it, I find your point of view quite interesting.**

Grantaire must have looked shocked because Jehan asked, “What is it?” and then tried to look over his shoulder. The poet got a huge smile on his face and said, rather loudly, “Enjolras texted you?”

Grantaire shushed him, though he wasn’t sure why, it’s not like anyone there knew Enjolras. “It was only to ask me to come to his group’s meeting. Did I ever tell you what they call themselves?” Jehan shook his head and Grantaire smiled slightly, “Les Amis de l’ABC” He wrote it on the paper too, so Jehan could see the spelling. 

“That’s brilliant” Jehan laughed. 

“I thought you would appreciate it. I don’t know who came up with it though.” Then his phone buzzed, it was a picture message from Éponine (they had exchanged numbers back at the café). The picture was of Enjolras, sleeping sprawled out on the couch. He was hugging a pillow to his chest and his feet were across Combeferre’s lap. His mouth was open and his brow smoothed out, he looked peaceful. The caption read, “Isn’t he adorable?” 

Jehan looked over his shoulder again, “Oh, that’s just precious.” Jehan had only seen rough sketches of Enjolras before, not a picture. Then asked, “Did you find out why he was at the outpatient centre last week?” 

Grantaire nodded, “He has cancer, I’m guessing he was there for chemo or something.” 

Jehan blinked and then said, “Oh” He then changed the subject, “So you’re going to go to that meeting, right?”

Grantaire nodded, then got an idea, “Why don’t you come with me?”

“Really?” Jehan smiled, “Of course I will.” Grantaire nodded and shot him a smile, going back to his sketch while Jehan went back to his poetry. It was a comfortable silence between them, as it always was. They were comfortable with each other, and they had only known each other for about three weeks. They fit together, Jehan and Grantaire. Small Jehan with nerves of steel, and Grantaire who felt everything so strongly and was affected so drastically. Jehan fed off those emotions while Grantaire needed to get them off his chest. And then there were times like these, quiet times, when they just enjoyed each other’s presence, and it was quite nice too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really can't with sleepyjolras i just akjbfajkdfb
> 
> Also someone please remind me to never again write a chapter the same day I plan on posting it, bad idea
> 
> Feedback is awesome :)


	9. Run and Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan moves in  
> Musain Mondays  
> and a conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of rape-
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

“And this, my friend, is your glorious bed.” Grantaire gestured to the sofa and Jehan set his bag down beside it. 

“It looks a lot better once it’s set up, I promise.” Feuilly said as he came into the apartment, closing the door behind him. “Also, I come bearing food.” Grantaire looked up from where he was fiddling with the couch cushions and ran to help Feuilly set it all down on the kitchen counter. 

“You’re my favorite person.” Grantaire told him very seriously as he pulled out the boxes of noodles and chicken. “Jehan, come and eat!” He called back out to the living room. 

Jehan was a bit hesitant when walking into the kitchen but he smiled when Feuilly handed him a plate and box of noodles. “I didn’t know what you liked and _someone,_ ” He looked pointedly at Grantaire, who was a bit too entertained rolling noodles on his fork to notice, “Wouldn’t answer his phone. So I just got more of what R and I usually have.”

“That’s alright, I’m not picky.” Jehan shrugged, picked a box at random, and put some of its contents on his plate. He had a significantly smaller serving than Grantaire or Feuilly and they both noticed. 

“Jehan,” Grantaire said, only eyeing him. Jehan wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You have to eat, you know that.” 

Jehan nodded, then served himself up more food. It was still less than either of his new roommates, but it looked like a reasonable amount. After they ate, Grantaire decided that he was going to give Jehan a mini-tour of the apartment. 

“Alright, so this here is the bathroom.” Grantaire opened the door to reveal a small bathroom, the bathtub had a green and blue polka-dotted shower curtain and one of the lightbulbs had gone out, it was very clean though. “I know, surprising for two college students, but don’t worry, our rooms are messes.” 

Grantaire walked to another door and slid it open, it was more of a storage area. “This is the hall closet, we keep the towels and all the extra stuff we have no other place for here.” There were blank canvases, paints, and brushes in there too. 

“And now beware, the bedrooms.” Grantaire tried to make his voice ominous as he walked to another door and opened it to reveal Feuilly’s room. The bed was pushed into a corner and the rest of the room was covered in what looked like hand-painted fans. There were also half finished paintings and papers strewn everywhere. “He really likes making those.” Grantaire gestured to the wall, where several finished fans were hanging. 

Jehan walked into the room to examine one with a particularly intricate design on it, “They’re beautiful.” 

“Thanks” Jehan turned around, he hadn’t heard Feuilly come up behind them. Jehan liked Feuilly, and he kind of wanted to braid his long-ish reddish-brown hair. Feuilly had liked the petit blond more than he thought he would. Jehan had a small frame, and wasn’t short but he wasn’t exactly tall either. He wore sweaters several sizes too big, which only helped to make him look smaller. From the short conversation Feuilly had had with him at the hospital, he could already tell that Jehan wasn’t someone that he would want to mess with. He also saw how much the poet cared for Grantaire, and Feuilly was glad for it. Maybe Grantaire would actually talk to Jehan, instead of just keeping his feelings bottled up until they exploded in the worst of ways. 

“You made these all on your own?” Jehan asked, walking out of the room and back to Grantaire’s side. Feuilly nodded, “That’s impressive. Do you sell them?”

“Sometimes,” Feuilly shrugged, “many people just don’t seem very interested in them.” 

“Well they should be.” Jehan said firmly, giving Feuilly his best smile, which he couldn’t help but return. 

After Feuilly had gone into his room to keep working on a summer project, Grantaire led Jehan to the only other door in the small hallway. “And this is my room.” Grantaire opened the door and Jehan’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Where Jehan would’ve described Feuilly’s room as an organized mess, Grantaire’s room was just chaos. There were clothes all over the floor, along with papers ripped out from sketchbooks, pencils, pens, and paint brushes. The bed was unmade, the sheets all bunched together on one end. Grantaire laughed at his expression, “Did you actually expect me to be organized?” Grantaire shook his head at him and walked back out.

“Not necessarily, but I didn’t expect such complete chaos either.” Jehan said while following him back. Grantaire stopped at the hall closet and took out sheets, a blanket, and an extra pillow, and handed them to Jehan. He also took out a small notebook and pen which he placed on top of the pile Jehan was holding. 

“For your bed” Grantaire said and headed to the kitchen to put away leftovers. Jehan smiled as he set down the pile on one end of the couch and settled himself on the other, opening the notebook and already thinking of what to write.

~*~*~*~

Monday nights were Musain nights. They were the unofficial get-together days of the Amis, like fridays were official meeting days (that and any other day Enjolras felt called for a meeting). Les Amis de l’ABC were more than just a group of activists, they were basically each others family. They definitely needed a day to just hang out and talk about everything they didn’t at the meeting. Such as, how Marius had actually called Cosette, asked her out, and was now dating her. All in a week. It was an accomplishment for the boy, and Courfeyrac was very proud (especially since he had all but forced Marius to call Cosette, who, it turned out, was just as infatuated with him as he was with her). 

The new couple was currently sitting in one of the tables in the back, as close together as they could get, Marius with his arm around her shoulders and Cosette leaning her head on his. Cosette was gorgeous, all of the Amis agreed; she had long blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and a laugh like birdsong, but, by far, her personality was the best thing about her. She had immediately taken to the Amis when she met them, mothering them like some of them had never been before. She was a good person to talk to, and always gave sound advice (if maybe a push in the right direction on occasion). In just a week, everyone had fallen a bit in love with her (especially Courfeyrac, after she brought homemade brownies), even Éponine was on the way to becoming friends with her, against all odds. It was hard to hate Cosette, she was everything that was good. That’s not to say she was always right, or she always made the right choices, but her heart was always in the right place.

Éponine and Courfeyrac were sitting in the largest booth the Musain had, the one that had unofficially become the Amis’ booth, and were talking about how the series finale of some BBC series or other was killing them. Bahorel was attempting to teach Joly how to throw a punch; Bossuet had wanted to join in as well, but they all knew it was a bad idea, so Musichetta just shook her head and took his hand, leading him towards the booth.

Grantaire and Feuilly came in a bit later, with someone else in tow. Jehan immediately headed to the booth in the back and introduced himself. Courfeyrac was delighted to meet the poet and proceeded to pull him into his and Éponine’s conversation about how the BBC was conspiring to turn them all into sobbing messes by the end of the year (before the hour was up, Jehan had braided Éponine’s hair and written several verses on Courfeyrac’s arms). Grantaire smiled and shook his head while Feuilly argued with Bahorel about how he couldn’t start a fight in the middle of the Musain again, lest they get kicked out. Again. It was a typical Monday night for the Amis (with two additional people, who were already becoming a much-loved part of the group)

~*~*~*~

Enjolras was having one of his rare good days. Good, of course, only meant that he seemed to have a bit of energy and hadn’t thrown up at all that day. His chemo treatments had been moved to Tuesdays, making it almost a week since his last one (these were usually his better days). So when Combeferre walked into the living room pushing a wheelchair in front of him, Enjolras felt his good mood shatter. “I hope you don’t expect me to use that.” Enjolras’s jaw was clenched and he was resolutely staring at a page of his book. 

Combeferre looked as if he had been expecting him to say that, “You knew it would happen eventually.” Enjolras just stared at the page. “Come on, Enjolras, you’re having a good day. Get on the chair and let’s go to the Musain, it’s Monday.” Enjolras glared at him without raising his head. Combeferre pushed the chair away, “Okay, if you can walk from there to your room without collapsing, you won’t have to use the wheelchair.” Enjolras stood up (slowly), the gleam of determination in his eyes. 

He hadn’t made it half way when his knees gave out. Combeferre had been ready to catch him, even though he hadn’t expected Enjolras to fall so soon. “Please use the chair, Enjolras.” Combeferre said softly, leading him to it as Enjolras leaned heavily against him. He refused to meet Combeferre’s eyes. Combeferre but his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “We knew this was going to happen.” He reminded him. “But just remember, you will get better, and you’ll be able to walk however much you want to again. This is temporary.”  Enjolras nodded and gave him a sad, small smile. Because he knew Combeferre had no way to know if Enjolras was going to get better or not; and also, because Enjolras knew it would only get worse from there.

~*~*~*~

Nobody said anything about the wheelchair when Combeferre pushed Enjolras into the Musain, which Combeferre highly appreciated as it had taken another half hour of talking to actually convince Enjolras to even go to the Musain. Enjolras took hold of the handles on the wheels and started pushing himself, he could do it for short distances without his muscles aching much. He settled himself into the spot that Joly had cleared out for him on the other side of the booth. “Thanks” Enjolras said as Combeferre passed him a cup of tea (he refused to let Enjolras drink coffee and stay awake all night before a chemo treatment) and settled into a chair beside him. 

“Guys,” Courfeyrac said, with a dramatic tone to his voice, “This is Jehan Prouvaire, the newest addition to our merry little band of social activists.” Jehan blushed slightly but smiled politely at the pair. 

“I’m Combeferre, and this is Enjolras” Combeferre said, a kind smile on his face. 

“It’s nice to meet you both” Jehan said, then went back to his scribbling on Courfeyrac’s wrist. 

Cosette came up to Enjolras and showed him a news article she had on her phone, “Have you seen this?” The article was about how a young teenager had been drugged and gang raped at some party, and how the case had gone to trial, and the rapists (only two of them had been convicted) had only gotten two years in jail (juvenile). Enjolras felt like fire had hit his veins, he was furious.

“This is disgusting,” Enjolras said, scanning through the article again. “And all the victim-blaming that’s in this, why would anyone ever think to defend a rapist.”

“I know,” Cosette sat beside him and took her phone back, “And that’s all I’ve heard about it. News programs barely even mentioned the victim and her state during this, they only talked about how both boys had “so much potential” and how “everyone deserves second chances”. They think it’s justifiable because the girl can’t remember it.”

“Lucky her” whispered Grantaire, barely realizing he had spoken. Cosette didn’t seem to hear him but Enjolras sure did. 

“What?” Enjolras asked, as if he couldn’t believe what Grantaire had just said.

Grantaire looked up at him, not seeming startled that Enjolras had heard him, “I said lucky her. At least she won’t have to deal with the psychological consequences.” Jehan looked toward Grantaire, seeming to forget about his own conversation with Courfeyrac (who was also staring between Grantaire and Enjolras now too). 

Enjolras’s face was pure disbelief, “That doesn’t have anything to do with this. She was raped, and nobody seems to care about her. Two of her rapists were convicted and people are actually sympathizing with them. That doesn’t have enough psychological consequences for you?” Enjolras’s fists were clenched and his eyes were blazing. 

Grantaire shook his head, his eyes sad, “No one ever cares, Enjolras.” 

“No,” Enjolras shook his head sharply, “ _You_ just don’t care.” Enjolras continued before Grantaire could reply. All eyes were on them. “Eternally cynical, you only seem to care about yourself. What would you know about what she’s feeling? A little sympathy would be nice, Grantaire, put yourself in her shoes. How would you feel if no one cared enough to try to defend you? How would you feel if you were actually blamed for a crime you were a victim of? Stop being selfish and actually think.”

That struck too close to home for Grantaire’s liking. He felt his throat close up and he bit his lip, hoping the hurt he was feeling wasn’t obvious on his face. “Screw you.” He said calmly, before standing up and all but running out into the street. 

“Grantaire!”, Feuilly said and stood up to follow him but Jehan put a hand on his arm, “Do you mind if I talk to him?” Jehan asked him, looking after Grantaire as he turned and disappeared from view. 

“Go, just find him before he gets too far.” Feuilly watched as Jehan eased himself out of the booth and ran after his roommate. He was ridiculously worried, and as much as he liked Enjolras, he really felt like punching him at that moment. 

Enjolras regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. They were cruel, much crueler than he ever was. Something about Grantaire just evoked that reaction in him and he was saying it before he even thought about it. He had watched as hurt had filled those very blue eyes, it was the moment he realized that Grantaire’s emotions were open for everyone to see, and then he watched, with a guilty conscience and a heavy heart, as the dark-haired man cursed him and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to say, Grantaire said what he said because of his own experiences. I'm trying to imagine what someone like Grantaire would think in that situation and this is what I came up with. I know there was a case like that in the USA a couple of months ago, and I felt utterly disgusted at all the victim-blaming that was going on and the sympathy the rapists were receiving. So I just wanted to make sure that was clear.
> 
> So  
> If you leave me feedback, you're awesome :)


	10. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story time with Jehan and Grantaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of rape, mentions or self-harm, and mentions of eating disorders-
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

Jehan ran ten blocks before he finally found Grantaire. He would go into each bar he saw and yell his friend’s name, ignoring all the glares he received. He also made sure to look into back alleys, just in case Grantaire had decided to hide out in one of those. Jehan knew those would be the most likely places to find Grantaire, he just hadn’t known how fast he could run. Jehan called Grantaire at least twenty times while he searched, they all went to voicemail. Just as he started to feel like there was no hope for finding Grantaire, Jehan ducked into another bar, and sure enough, there he was.

“Grantaire” Jehan said, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder. Grantaire tried to shake it off but Jehan held on. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, but Jehan had to start somewhere. 

Grantaire turned to look at him, “What do you think?” He raised his beer to his lips and drained it, then flagged down the bartender for another. 

Jehan took the seat besides him and sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Grantaire shrugged and the bartender handed him his beer. 

“You know,” Jehan took the beer and took a swig from it, “If you don’t talk about it, it’s just going to feel worse until it blows up and you do something stupid.” 

“I just don’t care anymore.” Grantaire took his beer back. 

“Do you want to go back to the apartment?” 

Grantaire pressed a hand to his face, “No, Jehan, I don’t want to go to the apartment. I want to stay here and drink until I pass out, that way I won’t have to think about fucking Apollo and how fucking perfect he is and how he hates me.” 

Jehan frowned, “Enjolras doesn’t hate you, R. And he’s far from perfect, especially after what he said to you.” 

“He was right though, I was being selfish.” Grantaire lowered his hand but wouldn’t look into Jehan’s eyes. 

Jehan only looked at him for a minute, before his eyes widened slightly, “You were thinking about your own experiences, weren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, Jehan knew the moment Grantaire closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

Suddenly, Grantaire stood up, “Let’s go back to the apartment.” He left a few bills on the bar and started walking to the door, Jehan scrambling after him. 

~*~*~*~

Feuilly still wasn’t back when Grantaire and Jehan reached the apartment. Grantaire hadn’t said a word on the way there, and remained silent while he opened the door and stepped inside. He headed for the armchair by the living room window, while Jehan settled himself on the couch. They were silent for about five minutes before Grantaire finally spoke, “Well?”

“Well what?” Jehan’s voice sounded loud after the extended silence. 

“You’re not going to ask about it?” Grantaire was fiddling with some loose thread on the hem of his sweatshirt. 

“No” Jehan said simply, “I’m willing to listen if you want to tell me about it, though.” 

Grantaire didn’t say anything for a minute, then he looked up at Jehan and the look in his eyes could only be described as empty. “It was a little over a year ago,” Grantaire started. “I was at a bar, getting drunk for no reason really.” He sighed, “Then some guy started flirting with me, and I had nothing better to do so I flirted back. I didn’t think anything would happen.” Jehan clutched his notebook to his chest but didn’t look away from Grantaire’s eyes. “But the next thing I know, he was dragging me out the back door; I don’t know why I didn’t call for help, I just didn’t.” That was when Grantaire looked away again. “Some of his friends were there and they grabbed me while he put a gag on me, then he tied my arms and my feet.” Grantaire felt his throat starting to close up but he tried to speak through it, “Then his buddies left, and he pushed me to the ground. You can guess what happened after that.” 

Jehan had moved from the sofa and was now kneeling in front of Grantaire. “Did you ever tell anyone, ever report it?” 

Grantaire still kept his gaze averted, “I told a guy I had considered my friend once, he said it wasn’t possible for men to be raped. I told a few more people, practically strangers, I was drunk whenever I did, and I’m pretty sure Feuilly knows by now. I never reported it.”

Jehan moved to sit on the armrest and started stroking Grantaire’s hair. “Why not?”

Grantaire leaned his head back, “Because the police wouldn’t have done anything about it anyway, so why even bother.”

“R,” Jehan stopped his hand, “you do know this wasn’t your fault.”

“So I’ve been told.” Grantaire was back to fiddling with the loose thread. “So now you know.”

Jehan started playing with his hair again, “While we’re telling stories now, how about I tell you one?” Grantaire nodded. “Okay. So when I was in high school, I was constantly teased. Because of how I dressed, because of how I spoke, how I never really played any sports, stuff like that. I could never get them to stop. That’s when I first started writing poetry. I wrote about everything I could, from things that made me happy to things that made me sad. I got curious about things after that, I’ve always been that way. I wondered what death felt like, I wondered what pain really was, I want to feel every emotion and try to capture them in poetry. Then after I graduated and started going to college, my mom was in a car accident. She was in the hospital for a week before she died, and I couldn’t do anything about that either. I started getting sick after that.

“Most people assume eating disorders are all about losing weight, but they’re not. I never needed to lose weight, I never really felt like it either. I can’t tell you how it happened, I don’t know. But before I knew it, this was happening to me. More poems came from that. Not long after, I started cutting. I’m not really sure why, either, but I felt so upset and sad that I just did it. At one point, I nearly killed myself from cutting too deep. My roommate sort of pushed me into admitting myself at the hospital after that, and I did. And I wrote more poetry. 

“Before you showed up, I didn’t really feel any desire to leave. I was content to spend my days writing. Then I met you, and I had a friend again.” Jehan gave him a small smile. “I think that’s all I really needed, I didn’t talk to many people while I was in the hospital. I know you think you’re not important, R.” Grantaire went to say something but Jehan shook his head at him. “But you’re important to me.” Grantaire didn’t know what to say to that so he just stayed silent and let Jehan mess with his hair. Grantaire closed his eyes and drifted off. 

He woke up when he heard the front door open, a very confused looking Feuilly walking in with a very determined looking Enjolras behind him.

~*~*~*~

The table was quiet after Grantaire and Jehan left, those who weren’t fidgeting and trying to diffuse the awkward silence that had settled between them were just staring at Enjolras. Combeferre was the first to speak, “You need to apologize.” 

Enjolras felt like saying that he had done nothing wrong, but then he remembered how Grantaire had looked at him. “I know” he said, then he got back into his wheelchair and moved away from the table to try to call Grantaire. He tried that five times before giving up and heading back. “He won’t answer.” He explained.

Feuilly was glaring at him, “Of course he won’t, he’s probably holed up somewhere right now getting drunk.” 

“I wasn’t in the wrong.” Enjolras defended himself.

“Not about all of it, no,” Courfeyrac admitted, “But you didn’t need to be so cruel.” 

This started an argument between all of them about why who said what and what Enjolras should do then. It went on for a while before Enjolras finally just told them all to be quiet. Then he proceeded to somehow convince Feuilly to let him go over to his apartment to apologize in person, and also for Combeferre to drive him back home after. 

That brought them to the current situation, with a rumpled looking Grantaire and a startled Jehan. Grantaire untangled himself from the blanket that had been placed over him and stared at Enjolras for a minute, “What the hell is he doing here?” The question was for Feuilly but his eyes never left Enjolras.

“I’m here to apologize.” Enjolras stood up from the wheelchair and walked over to Grantaire.

“You shouldn’t be walking.” Was all Grantaire could think to say, he was still half asleep and having Enjolras there wasn’t helping him regain his senses. 

Jehan stood up from the couch and gestured for Enjolras to sit in it, which he did. “Feuilly and I will be in the other room listening in, bye.” Then Jehan took Feuilly by the arm and dragged him into the hallway. 

“At least he’s honest.” Enjolras said with a slight smile, which slid off his face when Grantaire didn’t return it. He sighed before saying, “I shouldn’t have called you selfish, or said any of those things to you. I’m sorry I insulted you.”

Grantaire nearly laughed at that, “Is that what you think? That you insulted me?”

Enjolras licked his lips, Grantaire tried to not get distracted by that, “Didn’t I?”

“A bit, yes.” Grantaire admitted but said no more. 

Enjolras sighed, “Could I,” he gestured with his hands for a second, “Make it up to you somehow, maybe?” 

That sounded as if it could’ve been an invitation for a date and Grantaire had to stop himself from laughing. “Don’t strain yourself, Apollo, I don’t really care. Now you’ve apologized, you have no reason to be here anymore.” _I won’t make you be around me any longer_ , was what Grantaire actually wanted to say.

Enjolras could tell Grantaire was lying about not caring, but he focused on something else, “Apollo?” 

Grantaire gave him his biggest smile, “Yes, Apollo, the sun god. You shine as brightly as he does.” 

Enjolras frowned, “Do you really see me that way?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “As Apollo? A god who constantly tried to dominate others, terrorize others, and then punish them unjustly?” 

Grantaire’s eyes widened, “No” He managed to choke out.

“Then, please, don’t call me that.” Enjolras sighed and ran his hand down his face, “Goodnight, Grantaire.” Then he stood up, got into his wheelchair, and let himself out.

Grantaire let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. In the hallway, Feuilly and Jehan looked at each other, “Do you think they’ll always be like that?” Jehan asked Feuilly.

“Probably”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm sorry about the summary
> 
> 2\. I don't even know what happened with this chapter and I just ~~dontlookatme~~
> 
> 3\. I'm probably going to slow down in my updating, so I can write more of the story and so I'll stop rushing chapters ~~sort of like I did here~~ (and I need to get started on finishing the work I have to do for school before it starts) 
> 
> 4\. Feedback would be great :)
> 
> 5\. I'm serious about the chapter, I just, this feels like a horrible chapter to me (but I don't know what to do with it .-.) so I'm just going to try to make the next one a really good one
> 
> ~~Edited as of: 17/July~~  
>  ~~yes I like it better now~~


	11. Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac talks Jehan, Bahorel, and Éponine into going to karaoke night  
> And then he gets a phone call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Courfeyrac wanted to go to karaoke night, and no one wanted to go with him. It was pretty hard to say no when he pulled his puppy eyes, though, so some people did get roped into going, mostly for lack of an excuse not to. Jehan thought it sounded like fun, Éponine wanted a night out with Gavroche and couldn’t come up with anything else to do, and Bahorel wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to watch Courfeyrac make a fool of himself. Enjolras (who was almost permanently in the wheelchair by now) said he was too tired; Combeferre said he had just reached the best part of a book and wanted to finish it; Marius and Cosette were having their date night; Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were having their movie night; and Grantaire and Feuilly claimed that the art spirits had just blessed them both with the most divine inspiration so they couldn’t possibly do anything but stay in their apartment and make the best out of it. Courfeyrac still thought karaoke was worth it.

Courfeyrac was the first one there, practically bouncing in his seat as he waited for his friends to arrive. Éponine was first, with Gavroche behind her. Courfeyrac immediately jumped up, walked right past Éponine, and knelt in front of Gavroche. “Gav I have a very important favor to ask of you,” He stared at him for a minute, always the drama queen, “Will you let me lift you up like Simba if I sing The Circle of Life?”

“Are you serious right now?” He heard Éponine ask behind him, but he could also hear the smile in her voice. 

“This does not concern you!” Courfeyrac said, turning to wink at her. “What do you say, Gav?”

“Sure, sounds like fun, but only if you buy me a soda after.” Gavroche replied, smirking at Courfeyrac.

“Deal” he said, and stuck out his hand for Gravroche to shake. That’s when Bahorel walked in.

“Gav!” Bahorel ruffled the young boy’s hair, “Have you gotten yourself a girlfriend yet?”

“I’m eleven.” Gavroche tried to fix his hair (which made Éponine think that he needed a haircut). 

“That didn’t stop Courfeyrac.” Bahoral laughed and Éponine tried not to. Courfeyrac mock-glared at him while he headed over to write down their names in the list for karaoke.

“I wrote you down for a for a Justin Bieber song, by the way.” Courfeyrac informed Bahorel, who looked as if he was going to punch him; Courfeyrac just smirked at him and adjusted his bowtie.

That’s when Jehan made an appearance, “What’d I miss?

“Nothing at all,” Courfeyrac gave him a wide smile (that was very attractive, Jehan noticed) and put his arm around Jehan’s shoulders. “Actually, you’re just in time to watch Bahorel sing.” 

Reluctantly, Bahorel went up to the stage when his name was called, because even though he didn’t agree to that, once you were on the list it was a commitment one had to honor. 

So they all laughed as Bahorel reluctantly sang Justin Bieber’s “Baby” (and he actually knew all the lyrics, noted Éponine). Then Courfeyrac went up and sang “The Circle of Life”, lifting Gavroche, who was small for eleven, onto his shoulders near the end of it. Éponine was up next, and she sang a surprisingly good rendition of a Katy Perry song.

When it was Jehan’s turn, Courfeyrac thought he fell a little bit in love as he recognized the song the poet had chosen. It was “Santa Fe” from Newsies. Courfeyrac cheered the loudest when the song was over, and started talking about musicals with Jehan the moment he sat down. No one else in the group was into musicals as much as he was, really, most people expected him to be a theater major, not a law major. Gavroche pretended to be gagging while Éponine and Bahorel smirked at each other. Jehan’s cheeks were flushed and Courfeyrac was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, smiling constantly. 

The moment was shattered when Courfeyrac’s phone rang, just as Éponine, Bahorel, and Jehan’s phones notified them a text had arrived. It was Combeferre. “Hello?” Courfeyrac answered.

“Enjolras is in the hospital.”

~*~*~*~

Combeferre was in his room, reading, when he heard something fall and then a muffled shout. He was in the hallway in a second, running to the living room. “What’re you doing?” 

Enjolras was on the ground, his wheelchair on the other side of the room (it had been two weeks since he had started using it), leaning his head against the couch. Combeferre kneeled next to him, felt his forehead. He was burning up, and looked sickly pale. That’s when Enjolras doubled over and vomited, it was tinged red. 

Combeferre stood up and pulled the wheelchair over to where Enjolras was now passed out, his nose was bleeding. Combeferre shook his shoulder, “Enjolras, Enjolras!” Enjolras didn’t move.

He called an ambulance, since he wasn’t sure moving Enjolras would be the best idea at the moment. He kept talking to him and making sure Enjolras was breathing as he waited, trying to keep his panic at bay. 

They didn’t take long, thankfully, and Combeferre watched silently as the paramedics lifted his roommate onto a gurney and carried him to the waiting ambulance. One of them asked if Combeferre wanted to ride with him, he nodded, his eyes not moving from Enjolras. 

The moment they reached the hospital, Enjolras was wheeled inside and Combeferre left behind. He had answered all the questions he needed to on the way there, now there was nothing to do but wait.

Combeferre called Joly first, Musichetta answered the phone. “Hey, ‘Ferre, what’s up?”

“I’m in the hospital, just brought in Enjolras.” Combeferre could feel himself panicking and tried to push it down, he couldn’t do anything about it right then. 

“What happened?” Musichetta went into nurse mode as he explained, when he was finished she just said, “We’ll be there in half an hour, call Courfeyrac.” Then she hung up. 

So he did, and then he called Marius, who already knew since Joly had sent a text to everyone apparently. Then he went to call Feuilly, who answered with a, “We’ll be there in ten minutes, try not to stress out.” and then hung up. 

Combeferre waited, rather impatiently, for someone to show up, for something to focus on other than how his best friend was currently in a hospital and _not dying_ , definitely not dying, he was Enjolras, he couldn’t be dying. 

He was shaken from his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Courfeyrac, right behind him were Jehan, Bahorel, Éponine, and Gavroche. Courfeyrac didn’t say anything, just sat down beside him and kept his hand on Combeferre’s back. Bahorel sat beside Courfeyrac, while Éponine and Gavroche sat beside Combeferre. 

Not long after that, Feuilly and Grantaire showed up. Feuilly had dried paint on his hands and face, some in his hair as well. Grantaire’s jeans were covered in smudges of charcoal, as was his face. “What happened?” Feuilly asked, a frown on his face. 

Combeferre started speaking slowly, not raising his head. “And then I called an ambulance and here we are.” He finished, running his hands through his hair. He looked tired and ragged, a look none of them liked to see on usually calm and put-together Combeferre. 

Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet arrived right then and headed towards them. Musichetta stopped in front of Combeferre and hugged him tight. “He’ll be alright, sweetie.” she said into his ear. Courfeyrac leaned his head against Combeferre’s shoulder then, and Musichetta tried to smooth down his hair (it didn’t really work). Courfeyrac was Combeferre’s closest friend after Enjolras, and having him there helped him calm down some. 

It took an hour of waiting for a doctor to come out and ask, “Is there a Combeferre here?” Combeferre stood up as quick as he could and headed to the doctor, stepping away from the group to speak in private. The rest on them either watched them nervously, or tried to find something to distract them. 

After about five minutes, and some paper-signing, Combeferre came back. “Apparently his white-blood cells are practically nonexistent.” Was the fist thing he said when he sat back down. "He’s going to have to stay here for the rest of his chemo treatments, at least, that’s a month right there.” He ran a hand through his hair. “After chemo, he’ll need to have some tests done to see if there are any cancerous cells left, and stuff like that.” He finished with a shrug, looking utterly exhausted. 

“Is he awake?” Joly asked, he was holding Bossuet’s hand and Musichetta was leaning her head on his shoulder. 

Combeferre shook his head, “He woke up for a minute, but then he fell asleep. The doctor said he’ll probably stay that way until morning.”

Everyone was quiet for a minute before Courfeyrac said, “Well I’m not going to be the one to tell him that he’s staying here for a month.” They all thought about what Enjolras’s reaction would be and a near simultaneous shudder went through the group. 

“Shouldn’t we come up with some sort of visiting schedule,” Marius said, “I mean, if they let us visit him?”

Combeferre nodded, “We can visit, we’ll have to wear masks and gloves maybe, stuff like that, until his immune system strengthens, just to make sure he doesn’t get sick, but they’ll allow him visitors.”

Bahorel let out a long yawn, “Guys, how about we sort this out tomorrow? We all need sleep.” Everyone nodded and said their goodbyes to one another, planning to meet up the next day. 

Combeferre got a ride from Courfeyrac, neither of them spoke the entire time. When Courfeyrac pulled up to Combeferre’s building he said, “You going to be okay? Staying here alone?” 

Combeferre got out of the car then ducked his head back in, “Yeah,” He nodded, “I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t sure whether it was a lie or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I'm obsessed with Newsies, and other musicals, so I needed someone in les amis to like them so~~
> 
>  
> 
> About the Thénardiers: I'm not sure I'm bringing Azelma and the two younger, nameless Thénardiers into the story. If I do, they will be very minor, but for now, probably not.
> 
> I really don't know what else to say
> 
> Feedback would be great :)


	12. My Friends, My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where everyone visits Enjolras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Combeferre would visit him on most days, even if it was just an hour he had free before work. He would listen to Enjolras rant and make sure he was behaving well with the nurses (and apologize on his behalf when he wasn’t). Combeferre would sit beside his hospital bed and read, talk to him about current events, talk about philosophy or politics, anything that would keep Enjolras entertained. Combeferre would silently hand him a pan kept at Enjolras’s bedside when he said he felt sick and then hand him water and gum afterwards. He would listen to Enjolras go on one of his many political tirades, even though he had taken to stopping in the middle of an argument because he was feeling too tired to continue. He would watch bad movies with him, and let him go off about what was wrong in each and every one of them throughout the entire film. Combeferre would support him, and try to make him feel as comfortable as he could. 

Courfeyrac would come in and immediately start telling him about what was happening in everyone’s lives. He would talk to Enjolras about his classes, about his latest one night stand (which Enjolras never really wanted to know about), he would break into dumb impromptu songs with dances to go along with them. It would have been annoying if it wasn’t so _Courfeyrac_. It all made Enjolras feel better, made him feel a bit more like his healthy self. 

Joly and Bossuet would come in together, and while Joly fussed over Enjolras and asked his nurses what medication he was taking and how his treatments were going, Bossuet would tell him embarrassing stories caused by his bad luck, or about the latest prank he had managed to pull off. Musichetta would join them when she could, and if not then she came by herself. 

Marius would come and ask him for help in some of his classes, even though Enjolras doubted he actually needed it. And he was right, Marius did spectacularly in all of them but he figured that Enjolras would like discussing the course material. Sometimes Cosette would come with him, maybe sneak him something besides hospital food (Enjolras loved her for this).

Feuilly would come in when he could find the time, as he somehow juggled two part-time jobs and classes at the same time (Enjolras had no idea how he did it). Feuilly would talk about the rest of the world. Where most of his friends mostly focused on the local, Feuilly focused on the international. He would know the most obscure news about the farthest country (which he would tell Enjolras all about). For each day he came, he had a different country. Enjolras wondered how much research he did, as Feuilly was able to go into detail about the cultures of dozens of places. Apart from their governments and cultures, Feuilly was also very interested in their art and he would show Enjolras his favorites (which Enjolras then asked him to explain because he’s not very good at interpreting art). 

Jehan would bring him flowers and post-it notes with verses written on them. Instead of sitting in the chair besides the bed, he would sit by Enjolras’s feet, pulling his legs up underneath him. He would write poetry on his own arms as Enjolras read. Sometimes Jehan would bring poetry books and read to Enjolras from them, then they would discuss them. They became good friends very quickly. Jehan loved Enjolras’s impassioned words and Enjolras found the way Jehan saw the world interesting. Enjoras also noticed Jehan’s affectionate nature, as he came to visit on one of Enjolras’s bad days and instead of sitting at the foot of the bed, Jehan told Enjolras to move over and sat down next to him. Jehan traced words on his back and Enjolras actually found himself being comforted by it. 

Bahorel would usually try to get Enjolras to play video games with him, and he’s fairly sure it was partly Courfeyrac’s idea. Every time he came in, Bahorel would bring a laptop or some hand-held game. Whenever Enjolras was particularly hyped up on medication, he would actually play them, and it was one of the funniest sights Bahorel had ever laid eyes on. Enjolras never played video games as a kid, and his lack of skill showed. Bahorel could have beat him easily every single time but it was amusing to watch Enjolras struggle. Eventually, Enjolras would either fall asleep in the middle of a game or push it away out of frustration. 

Éponine would bring Gavroche with her, even though Enjolras was pretty sure there was an age limit to his visitors (he was also pretty sure Éponine didn’t care). Enjolras (along with the other amis) was turning Gavroche into a proper little revolutionary. Apparently the week before he stood on top of his desk in the middle of a class and starting arguing with the teacher about what sexism was and how the teacher was being sexist, which left said teacher speechless. Éponine had to try not to laugh when she was called in to talk about Gavroche’s “unacceptable behavior”. Enjolras high-fived Gavroche when he heard that story. 

Grantaire. Grantaire ended up visiting him almost as often as Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He would come in with a smirk to his lips and his sketch pad under his arm. Sometimes he wouldn’t say a word, just sit down and start drawing (never letting Enjolras see, which annoyed him to no end). Other times he would come in and immediately start arguing with him, only stopping when the nurses told him he had to leave. He was there so often and for so long that Enjolras wondered if he had nothing better to do. One day Enjolras asked him, Grantaire’s only response was to smirk at him and laugh. “Don’t you have classes?” Grantaire would shrug and say, “I didn’t really feel like going to them.” 

One day, Grantaire came in with bruised knuckles and a bruise blooming on his jaw. Enjolras considered that normal from Bahorel but not Grantaire. “What happened to you?”

“I was boxing.” was all Grantaire said. Slowly, Enjolras got to know Grantaire, and small things about him. How he preferred sketching to painting, that he could dance, and that he used to fence. Most of their conversations didn’t last long before turning into debates, but despite it all, Enjolras was finding that he enjoyed the cynic’s company, and considered him a friend. 

~*~*~*~

“Grantaire!” Jehan practically yelled when he ran into Grantaire’s room at an absurdly early hour. Grantaire threw his pillow in Jehan’s general direction but he was pretty sure he missed. He sighed when the poet pushed him over and sat next to him. 

“What?” Grantaire grumbled as he shoved his face into his other pillow.

Jehan shook his shoulder, “Are you going to see Enjolras today?”

“Probably”

“Then please take the flowers I left on the kitchen table, I can’t go today.” Jehan then ruffled his hair and left. Grantaire considered standing up to get his other pillow, but deemed it too much work and fell asleep, only waking up again at what he considered a reasonable hour (noon).

Grantaire felt alive again after he had his coffee. He took Jehan’s flowers and headed off to the hospital, even though he knew he had two classes that day. As long as he was passing (and he was) then he didn’t really think there was much of a point to going. 

Enjolras was asleep when Grantaire came in, and he took a moment to just look at him. Enjolras was pale, sickly pale. His eyebrows were long gone, along with the rest of his hair. He was much thinner than he had been when Grantaire had first met him, and it was apparent how slight his frame was. Grantaire didn’t know much about cancer, only stuff that he had learned in school and seen in movies. He had never seen it up-close like he was now, and it was disconcerting. He knew Enjolras had to be in the hospital because of that infection he had gotten a couple of weeks before, and he still had two chemotherapy treatments left, that was two more weeks at least(and Grantaire knew that was driving him crazy). His immune system had been slowly building itself back up, and now they didn’t always have to wear gloves and masks when they were around him. It was normal, apparently, for the white-blood cell count to be low during chemotherapy, but not exceptionally low like Enjolras’s. 

Grantaire set the flowers down on the bedside table and smiled when he saw the post it notes hidden among them. He didn’t notice that Enjolras was now awake and jumped when he felt a hand on his arm. Enjolras looked from the flowers to Grantaire with a slight smile on his face. Grantaire actually blushed and managed to say, “They’re from Jehan, he said he couldn’t come today.” Enjolras only nodded, the small smile still on his face. 

Grantaire sat on the chair next to Enjolras and took out his sketchpad. “Today’s a chemo day.” Enjolras said after a minute. 

Grantaire looked up at him, “Oh” He closed the sketchbook. “Do you want me to leave?” 

Enjolras shrugged, “You can stay if you want, but I should warn you that it’s not all that pretty.” 

Grantaire was about to make some comment about how everything was pretty when it came to Enjolras when a nurse came in. “You have company today, I see.” She said to Enjolras, smiling at him. 

“Maryssa, this is Grantaire,” Enjolras introduced them, “Grantaire, this is my nurse, Maryssa.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Maryssa said then got to work on administering the medication. Grantaire watched the process silently, noticing the slight scowl on Enjolras’s mouth. “You’re all set.” She said after a few minutes, “You know the drill, just press the button if you need me.” Enjolras nodded as Maryssa walked out of the room. 

Enjolras leaned his head back and let out a deep breath, Grantaire looked down at his sketchbook. “Will you ever let me see any of your drawings?”

Grantaire smirked, “Maybe, someday. Though I should warn you, they’re not all that pretty.” That nearly got a smile from Enjolras. “So what do you usually do during this?”

“Read, mostly. Sometimes I watch bad television.” Enjolras fidgeted with his hands. 

“Make plans to overthrow the patriarchy, the usual?” Grantaire was grinning. 

Enjolras did smile this time, “Pretty much.”

Two hours into the chemo, Enjolras threw up. Grantaire sat behind him with his hand on his back. After too many drunken nights, Grantaire could sympathize with this. He drew circles on his back as Enjolras took deep breaths. Enjolras pushed the pan away from him and drank the water that he had on the bedside table. Then he turned to look at Grantaire, “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Grantaire wanted to be closer to him, so logically, he moved back into his chair. He shrugged, “Nothing I haven’t seen before, Enj.”

The next two hours passed without much happening; Grantaire was pretty sure they had never gone a day without arguing or debating something. After the chemotherapy session was done, Enjolras fell asleep. He looked adorable, actually, the frown was gone from his face and his mouth was slightly open. He was hugging his pillow to his chest and Grantaire had to resist the urge to take a picture of him (he would probably end up trying to draw it later). 

When Enjolras woke up about an hour later, there was a piece of paper next to his head. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. On the paper, was a drawing; it was of all his friends in the booth at the Musain. Combeferre was reading, Courfeyrac was dancing, Jehan was writing, Bahorel and Feuilly were mock-fighting, Joly was laughing, Bossuet was tripping, Musichetta was smiling, Marius and Cosette were looking at each other, and Éponine was playing darts. Grantaire had drawn himself in it too, on a corner of the booth, drawing. Then he saw himself. Standing in front of all of his friends, speaking to them. The way Grantaire had drawn him, Enjolras didn’t really look like that, it was as if he had some sort of halo around him. It was the opposite of how Grantaire had drawn himself, small and barely noticeable. Enjolras was the center of attention in the drawing. 

Enjolras stared at the drawing for a while longer, not sure of what he was feeling, before putting it on the bedside table and drifting back to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for not updating in forever  
> First, I had the worst case of writer's block ever  
> And some other stuff happened  
> And then Vikings happened  
> And Game of Thrones  
> so um, sorry?
> 
> I should add that this might happen again because school's starting soon and I'm going to be pretty busy. You know, AP classes and SATs and another exam like the SATs I have to take cause I'll probably go to college locally and not in the USA. Also volunteering. Okay so I apologize in advanced and I hope you guys liked the chapter, I'll try to update soon :)
> 
> And, of course, feedback is always appreciated :)


	13. Courfeyrac Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette, Grantaire, and Jehan have a movie night
> 
> Courfeyrac has his own meeting
> 
> Grantaire is late
> 
> Enjolras is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna apologize now for the horrible chapter title
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

“So where’s Feuilly tonight?” Cosette asked when she came out of the kitchen with three bags of popcorn in her arms. Grantaire was spread out on the couch and Jehan was sitting on a sleeping bag on the floor. They were sprawled out in front of the television, with a couple of movies on hand that they wanted to get through. Jehan had picked _RENT_ , Cosette had picked _The Ring_ , and Grantaire had picked _The Sixth Sense_.

“At Courf’s.” Jehan said, taking a bag from her and patting the sleeping bag next to him. “There’s no way you’ll make R move; I know, I tried.”

Cosette laughed and sat cross-legged next to Jehan, “That’s alright, we can be cuddle buddies.”

“You did not just say “cuddle buddies”.” Grantaire took his own bag of popcorn and opened it. 

Cosette put in the first movie, Jehan’s pick. “You’re just jealous you don’t have one.” Then she flipped her long, blonde hair over one shoulder and rested her head on Jehan’s shoulder. Grantaire mimicked her movements and flopped back down on the couch. “I saw that.” She said, and Grantaire paled (but Jehan could see that Cosette was smiling). 

“Cosette, I have a very serious question to ask you.” Cosette turned around and was met by Grantaire’s face mere inches from her own. “Did you attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

“Oh how I wish.” Cosette smiled at him brightly, “I just saw your reflection on the TV, I haven’t started the movie.” Then she ruffled his hair and went back to Jehan’s shoulder. 

“Well then.” Grantaire threw himself down again and Jehan shot a smirk at him over his shoulder. And then _five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes..._

By the time the movie ended Grantaire was trying to pretend he didn’t cry. He really only lost it on the reprise of _I’ll Cover You_. Jehan wiped his eyes with a tissue and Cosette said, “Okay, bring on _The Sixth Sense_.”

Grantaire sniffed and blinked a few times, “I still can’t believe you’ve never watched it.” 

Cosette shrugged and leaned her head back to look at him, “I never really watched many movies.” 

Grantaire ran his hand through her hair and smiled at her charmingly, “That’s alright, sweet child, we’re gonna change that.” Cosette rolled her eyes at him but smiled nonetheless.

“Quiet!” Jehan whispered to both of them as he settled back into the sleeping bag, “Movie time.”

_The Sixth Sense_ left them with significantly less emotional scarring. Grantaire stood up to put on the last movie and said, “If either of you take the couch I will not hesitate to sit on you.”

“Don’t worry, R.” Cosette and Jehan had made a sort of pillow and blanket mattress during the last movie and were both snuggled up on it. “We’re perfectly comfortable here.”

Grantaire changed the movie and headed back to the couch, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you stole my blanket.”

“Grantaire, that was an hour ago.” Jehan informed him.

Grantaire settled himself into the sofa, “I didn’t want to interrupt your movie watching experience.”

“Well, the movie just started so shh.” Cosette reached a hand out to his face and after a few seconds of searching covered his mouth.

Grantaire shoved it away and grumbled, “Now that was just unnecessary.” Jehan patted his hand and they watched the movie in silence.

That is until they were about two-thirds of the way through and Grantaire managed to squeeze himself between Jehan and Cosette. 

“Grantaire?” Jehan was frowning at him.

This time Grantaire covered Jehan’s mouth and said, “Shh, you’re interrupting my movie watching experience.” Both Cosette and Jehan noticed how Grantaire leaned into them and smiled at each other over the top of his head. Grantaire mumbled, “I saw that.”

Jehan fell asleep on Grantaire’s shoulder, only waking up when Grantaire stood up to turn the lights back on. “Don’t, I want sleep.” Jehan leaned sideways until he was laying down, his head on Cosette’s lap. Cosette smiled and stroked his now disheveled braid. 

“I’m blaming you for any paranoia I feel for the next week.” Grantaire pointed a finger at her and then turned off the lights again. “But that does look pretty comfortable.” Then before Cosette could do anything, Grantaire settled his head next to Jehan’s. “Goodnight.”

Cosette let them be for about a minute, she sent a text to Marius (saying goodnight), and then she stood up and settled herself into the couch, taking a blanket from the boys (who barely noticed she had moved and just adjusted themselves). “Goodnight, guys.” She said before closing her eyes and falling asleep.

~*~*~*~

Marius walked into the apartment he shared with Courfeyrac, looking through the mail. “Hey, Courf, did you-” That’s when he ran into Bahorel.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Bossuet, Joly, Feuilly, and Bahorel are coming over.” Courfeyrac said, grinning as he came into the living room.

Marius sighed, “Thanks for the heads-up.” He didn’t mind though.

“So, let’s get down to business.” Courfeyrac clapped his hands together and brought out his laptop. 

“We have business?” Feuilly asked.

“I’m glad you asked, my dear ginger.” Courfeyrac turned his laptop around displaying a white page with the title of ‘ _The e and R situation_ ’.

Bossuet groaned, “Please, not the powerpoints again.” He threw his head back, hitting it against the wall with a loud _thunk_. 

Joly rubbed the back of his boyfriend’s head and in response to Courfeyrac’s pout he said, “Last time you made one of these it had over fifty slides.” 

Courfeyrac was bouncing in place, “But this one’s short I promise.”

“Wait, but what do you mean the e and R situation?” Marius asked.

“Marius, Marius, Marius.” Courfeyrac sighed, “That is what the powerpoint is for.”

“Just get going with it, Courf.” Feuilly said, looking amused. 

“Okay, so I think it’s fairly obvious they both want to get in each other’s pants. Exhibit A: eye sex.” Courfeyrac passed to another slide, which contained a disturbing number of pictures of people staring at each other. He passed the slide again, this time it had probably-not-so-discretely taken pictures of Enjolras and Grantaire when they’re arguing. “Exhibit B: Unresolved sexual tension.”

“Can I just point out that Enjolras is practically incapable of sexual activity right now, he can barely stand up.” That was Joly. 

“That’s besides the point.” said Courfeyrac, passing to the next slide. More secret pictures of Enjolras and Grantaire.

“Do you make it a hobby to take pictures of people without their awareness?” Bahorel asked. 

“Yeah, makes blackmailing easier, footie pajamas.” Courfeyrac shot him a wicked smirk and Bahorel nearly growled at him. “Now if you will allow me to continue.” Bahorel rolled his eyes at him, but looked as if he was trying not to laugh. “Knowing Enjolras, he probably has no idea how into Grantaire he actually is. And R probably thinks he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“No, he definitely thinks it’ll never happen.” Feuilly piped in, not really sure why he was even going along with this.

“Right, well, here’s the thing.” Courfeyrac closed his laptop, “It definitely will.” He gave his audience a very serious look (while the rest of them were simply wondering where he was going with that). “How many people do we know who can actually shut down Enjolras’s argument so efficiently?” 

“In all fairness, we never really try, unless he asks us to.” Bossuet said, he was leaning his head on Joly’s shoulder.

“Yeah, okay, but don’t you guys see?” Courfeyrac was gesturing wildly, as if his hand movements could bring the rest of his friends sudden insight. “Enjolras actually loves that. He might not know it, but he does. No one ever challenges him this way, debates are usually a walk in the park for him. But with R it’s different.” 

“I think it just frustrates him to no end.” Bahorel shrugged.

“That too.” Courfeyrac admitted. “But can’t you guys see, these two are crazy for one another, and when was the last time Enjolras had a crush?” No one had an answer. “Never, as far as I know, Enjolras has never really been interested in anyone.”

“So the fact that Enjolras likes to argue with R, means he likes him?” Marius looked incredulous.

“Not necessarily, but combine that and how Enjolras is always bringing him up in conversation, how he’s always looking at Grantaire when he thinks no one will notice, and I would say, yes.” Courfeyrac smiled.

~*~*~*~

Grantaire is late. That’s about as much as Feuilly, Cosette, and Jehan can tell by his rushing. Grantaire is always late. Which is exactly why they’re all confused as to why he’s actually rushing.

Jehan corners him before he can leave his room and stares him down until Grantaire finally, shooting a look at Cosette first, said, “I have group therapy.” 

“Why the rushing?” Jehan persisted, “You never rush.”

“I’ve missed it twice already, if I miss it again I’ll have to go back in.” Grantaire looked over at Cosette a few times while he said that, she was the only one in the room who didn’t know.

Jehan let Grantaire pass but Cosette stopped him before he reached the door. “You’re not leaving before eating something, I made you toast.” She pressed the paper plate into his hand and kissed him on the cheek. She gave him a small smile and then Grantaire was out the door.

Not long after, Cosette said she was heading home. “I’m in desperate need of a shower.” She bid her goodbyes to the boys and left.

The moment the door shut Jehan turned to Feuilly, “Since when does R have group therapy?”

Feuilly sighed, “They probably found out.”

Jehan frowned at him, “About what?”

Feuilly rubbed his hand down his face, “A couple of weeks ago, Grantaire relapsed. I was the one who found him. I’m guessing the people at the outpatient centre somehow found out and now he has to do this. He only sees his psychiatrist now, since classes have started.”

Jehan, who was still in his outpatient program, sighed, “He didn’t say anything about it to me.”

“Hey,” Feuilly said, leaning against the counter, “Don’t take that to heart. R isn’t always the most open person.”

Jehan nodded, “I know.” He looked over the counter at the breakfast Cosette had made them. “Is she a good cook?”

Feuilly smiled, “The best.”

~*~*~*~

“Have you ever noticed how smart Grantaire is?” Enjolras said, mentioning Grantaire for about the tenth time since Combeferre got there.

“Is he?” Combeferre tried his hardest not to smile. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras frowned slightly. “I mean, he’s endlessly frustrating and constantly argues with me, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe in half the things he argues about and does it only for the sake of arguing and debating. But that’s the thing, he can argue and debate so many point of views with all the conviction in the world, he can shred arguments to pieces, he can rattle off random facts and statistics that I’m pretty sure aren’t made up. It’s endlessly frustrating, really.” Then Enjolras smiled slightly, “And he’s a really good artist. He boxes too, I thought only Bahorel was into that.” Enjolras didn’t seem to realize he was rambling. 

“What’s this?” Combeferre had picked up the drawing from Enjolras’s bedside table.

“Grantaire left it here last time he visited.” Enjolras said, almost whispering. 

Combeferre was taking in every aspect of the sketch, “This is fantastic.” Enjolras nodded. “And I think it says more about him than you know.” 

“What do you mean?”

Combeferre smiled at his best friend, “I’ll let you figure that out by yourself.” Then he stood up and headed to the door, “I have a class in twenty minutes, so I’ll see you later.” And with that, he left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this so quickly, outlining works wonders  
> Anyway, hope you guys liked it and feedback is always appreciated :)


	14. Just a Little Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Grantaire are pretty damn cute  
> Grantaire and Courf have words  
> and why are you still reading this go on to the damn chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Jehan woke up feeling like death. The moment he opened his eyes he felt an intense wave of pure _feelings_ crash over him. He felt worthless, he felt stupid, he felt sad, he felt hatred, he felt upset, he felt everything. It wasn’t long before he was hyperventilating. Jehan wanted to- but no. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. First, he didn’t have any razors; second, he had promised R. Grantaire, he should tell Grantaire. But what would Grantaire do? Why would Grantaire care? Why would anyone care about him?

That’s when he started crying. He wasn’t exactly sure _why_ ; there usually wasn’t a _why_. Jehan hid his face in his pillow, trying to hide the sounds he was making as best he could. He was shaking though; if either of his roommates came outside and saw him, they would know something was up. 

Grantaire woke up to his alarm, which made him realize how drunk he really must have been the night before. It also made him feel like someone was driving a jackhammer into his skull so he did the only thing anyone in his situation would do, he threw the alarm clock across the room. Thankfully, the damn thing shut up. 

However, now that he was awake he couldn’t fall back asleep. He barely remembered the night before, but he knew it involved something with Bahorel and Bossuet and some very weird looking cats. Don’t ask him, he didn’t remember. He decided it was worth it getting up to get some water and an Advil maybe. 

As he walked out to the living room, he saw a Jehan-shaped bump under the covers. He gave a half smile and walked into the kitchen. It was only after he had walked back that he noticed that said bump was shaking. Grantaire frowned and went to sit at the edge of the bed. “Jehan?” He asked worriedly. 

Jehan had stiffened when he felt someone get on the bed. He had to tell Grantaire something, but he wasn’t quite ready to come out from under his blanket. He felt a hand on his back and the heard R’s voice again, “Jehan, are you okay?” 

Gingerly, Jehan lowered the sheets from his face, looking up at Grantaire with red-rimmed eyes and an expression that could break anyone’s heart. “No” is all Jehan could bring himself to say before he felt the tears filling up his eyes again. Grantaire didn’t say anything else, he just climbed into bed next to Jehan, barely minding his hangover. Grantaire put his arm around Jehan’s shoulder and Jehan leaned heavily onto him. 

“I just-” Jehan took a deep breath, “I-” He couldn’t come up with words, he couldn’t think of them. Words, which he always had more than enough of; Jehan was _never_ short on words. The thought had him full out sobbing. 

“You don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.” Grantaire reassured him as he smoothed down Jehan’s hair. Jehan nodded into Grantaire’s shoulder and tried to even out his breathing. After a few minutes of listening to him, Grantaire said, “Do you want breakfast? Maybe coffee or tea?” 

Jehan let out a shaky laugh, “Tea please.” His voice sounded small to Grantaire.

Grantaire nodded and stood up, “I’ll be right back.” 

After Grantaire got Jehan everything he needed, he came up with an idea. It probably wasn’t the best one, but it usually worked for him. So naturally, he went with it.

~*~*~*~

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Feuilly groaned as he stood right outside the apartment, he could smell the weed from there. He unlocked the door, quietly grumbling, “They could have at least opened a damn window.”

Jehan was passed out on the couch, but Grantaire was staring and trying to grab at something that was above his head apparently. Feuilly didn’t have time for this, he had about three essays to finish before he went to work in two hours. He went and opened the window across the room and turned on the fan, trying to air out the place a bit. 

That was when Grantaire noticed him, “Feuilly” He said with a dopey smile on his face. Then he promptly fell sideways and started snoring. 

Feuilly rolled his eyes at both his roommates and went into his own room to try and get some work done. 

~*~*~*~

It was one of those rare days where Grantaire actually attended his classes. As he was getting his after-class coffee, someone hit him on the shoulder. 

“Hey, R, haven’t seen you in a while.” Grantaire turned around to the smiling face of Courfeyrac. 

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, “Dude, I saw you like two days ago.” 

“Yeah, but you missed Musain Monday yesterday, we were worried.” Courfeyrac shrugged, “Anyway, want to get lunch or do you have a class now.”

“Not for another hour, I can do lunch.” Grantaire nodded.

Courfeyrac’s smile somehow grew wider, “Fantastic,” He said as he led Grantaire away from the coffee cart, “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Grantaire didn’t think he was wrong to worry.

~*~*~*~

“They refuse to do the PET scan already.” Enjolras was sitting up in his bed, his arms crossed and his frown on. 

“Enjolras, you still have one treatment left.” Combeferre reminded him, passing a page in his book. 

“Like that will make any difference, what if I’m fine? Why do I really need to wait another week?” Enjolras actually huffed.

“Your oncologist said so himself, Enjolras; one more week won’t kill you.” Combeferre looked at him over the rim of his glasses.

“I’m tired of being here, Combeferre.” Enjolras uncrossed his arms and slumped down. “I’m tired of the food, of the treatments, of nurses checking up on me constantly.” He sighed, “I’m tired of being sick, I could be doing much better things but instead I’m stuck in a hospital, completely powerless.”

Combeferre frowned, “You’re not powerless, Enjolras.”

“I can’t even walk, ‘Ferre.” Enjolras gave a bitter laugh, “You won’t even let me have my laptop.”

“Because it will just stress you out, and stress is the last thing you need right now.” Combeferre’s voice was calm and composed.

“Not being able to do anything _is_ stressing me out.” 

“Just wait another week, Enj. What’s another week to the month you’ve been here already?” Combeferre adjusted his glasses and marked his spot in his book.

“Too much time wasted.” Enjolras said. “I could be out there, doing something, helping someone. Whether it’s just writing a speech, or updating our blogs, it’s better than not being able to do anything at all.”

Combeferre stood up, “It is just one week, you’ll get through it.” _I hope_ , he added silently. Enjolras wasn’t looking his best, he had lost a lot of weight due to the chemo and he was terribly pale, but he was still the same person, which did give the rest of the amis and himself hope.

“Fine.” Enjolras was quite obviously _not_ fine with it. “Enjoy your lecture.” 

Combeferre smiled, “I’ll tell you about it later.” 

Reluctantly, Enjolras smiled back.

~*~*~*~

Courfeyrac led him to the table on the tiniest and darkest corner. “Good place to talk.” He said to Grantaire’s raised eyebrow.

“What’s so important then?” Grantaire sat down and started eating, not waiting for Courfeyrac’s response. 

“So what’s up with you and Enj?” Courfeyrac said without preamble.

Grantaire started coughing and Courfeyrac handed him his glass of water, the expectant look never leaving his face. Once Grantaire could breathe again he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Which was, of course, a stupid thing to say considering he had almost choked to death because Enjolras was mentioned. 

Courfeyrac just looked amused, “Grantaire we all know you like him.”

Grantaire frowned, he couldn’t be _that_ obvious...could he?

“You kind of are, yes, especially when you’re around him.” And that was when Grantaire realized that he had spoken out-loud. He blushed and desperately tried to think of an excuse to stop this conversation or just leave. He didn’t know why he felt the way he did about Enjolras, it was just something about him. Not only his looks, but his way of being. Enjolras was hopeful and idealistic and he could see the best in people, Grantaire couldn’t do that, and sometimes he wished he could. There was also that tiny hope in the back of his mind that Enjolras might actually see the best in him too, though Grantaire knew that was a ludicrous thought, he was sure Enjolras could barely stand him. 

He voiced as much, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Courf,” Grantaire said slowly, “But Enjolras doesn’t exactly like me.”

Courfeyrac just starred at him for a second and then started laughing, “Oh my god,” more laughter, “Wait, I need a minute.” Courfeyrac was doubled over and clutching his stomach from how hard he was laughing. Eventually he calmed down a bit, “Are you” _laugh_ , “Are you being serious?”

Grantaire frowned, “Yes,” he shrugged, “I don’t really see how that’s surprising.”

Courfeyrac shook his head, “R, do you really think Enjolras would spend so much time with you if he didn’t like you?” 

Grantaire shrugged, not believing it after being on the receiving end of many of Enjolras’s rants, “I figured he just couldn’t kick me out.”

Courfeyrac laughed again, “You sure are something, R.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him, “That a good or bad thing?” 

“Not sure,” He smirked, “Maybe we should ask Enjolras about it.” 

Grantaire shook his head, but he was smiling a bit. “Don’t meddle into it, Courfeyrac. Promise me you won’t.”

“I had no intention to.” He assured, though he did look a bit put out, “I am a mere observer.”

Grantaire started eating his sandwich again, “Yeah, you have fun with that.”

~*~*~*~

Enjolras was staring at Grantaire’s drawing again, as he always tended to do whenever no one was around. He was still trying to figure out what Combeferre had meant when he said that the drawing said more about R than he knew, but Enjolras had never been the best at artistic interpretation. 

He looked at himself in the drawing, Grantaire had drawn him with the most detail, but he hadn’t changed Enjolras’s current appearance. Enjolras wasn’t in his wheelchair, but it was in the corner of the drawing, as if it had been pushed back. Enjolras didn’t have his hair in it, and all the weight he had lost was evident, but he still looked strong and convinced of whatever he was arguing. Then Enjolras took a look at the rest of the faces in the drawing, and he noticed that the only one actually looking at him, not as if it were a passing glance (because apparently you could have those in drawings) was Grantaire.

Enjolras felt something shift in his mind, felt his heart jump. He kept looking at the drawing and that was when he realized. “Oh my god.” Enjolras said to himself. He put the drawing down and leaned his head back against the wall. “I like Grantaire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what I’m gonna try to do is write as much as I can during the week, if I can, and then just force myself to finish it on Saturday. I really hated having to make you guys wait so long for this since for some reason you guys like this fic. And thanks for waiting so long for this and I’m sorry if it’s terribly crappy I was dead tired while I wrote most of it. 
> 
> But yeah, while I will try to do that but still no promises since I’m not sure how that will work out.
> 
> Feedback would be great :)


	15. The One with the Guitar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a guitar in this one and that's all I'm saying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a scale of 1 to stop-naming-them how much do I suck at naming chapters
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warning: brief (very brief) mentions of child abuse
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

Grantaire isn’t okay. Especially not that day, that particular morning (afternoon, technically). The flashbacks were in full swing, the phantom touches. Grantaire had to leave, he wanted out, but he couldn’t exactly leave his own body now, could he? He felt the caress of a hand on his back and heard His voice, _I know you want this, why are you crying?_ Grantaire bit his lip, trying to will it all away. Jehan was probably at the hospital, and Feuilly at work, he was alone. 

Grantaire got dressed, he avoided drinking his way through his stash, no matter how much he wanted to, and grabbed his keys on the way out. This was something he had figured out sometime in the past year, something he could do whenever he wanted to escape himself for a few hours. With his guitar case in hand, he headed to the children’s hospital. 

~*~*~*~

“Bossuet, could you crack the eggs, please?” Musichetta smiled at him over her shoulder as she got the rest of the ingredients out of the pantry. It was one of those rare days when none of them had class or work, so they always decided to spend them cooking together. This day, they were making all desserts (and Joly made the mistake of telling Courfeyrac, who was now calling every ten minutes asking when he could come over). 

Joly, who was working on some cake batter, turned his head to kiss Bossuet on the cheek. Bossuet gave him a small smile then turned to Musichetta, “Sure.” He got a separate bowl and got started.

Five minutes later, the three of them were staring at said bowl in wonder. “How did that-” Musichetta started. “That shouldn’t be-” Joly continued. Bossuet sheepishly looked down at his bowl. He had somehow managed to get the shells of the eggs in the bowl, but almost none of the actual egg. 

“That’s alright though, we got more eggs yesterday.” Musichetta quickly assured her boyfriend. She handed him a spoon, “You can go stir that batter over there and I’ll work on the eggs.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and sent him on his way. 

Joly looked after him fondly and then turned to Musichetta. “Want me to prep the oven now or wait until everything is ready?”

Musichetta had a suggestive smirk on her face, “I think we better wait, we might,” She stepped closer to Joly until their lips were almost touching, “Get distracted.” She then pressed a terribly innocent kiss on his lips and turned to get more eggs out of the fridge. 

They both heard a spoon clatter to the floor, Joly raised his eyebrows at Bossuet. Bossuet picked up the spoon and muttered, “It’s ‘Chetta’s fault, she was being the tease.” This jerked a giggle (yes, a giggle) out of Joly. Musichetta simply turned her head and winked at her two boys, both of who practically melted under her gaze. 

~*~*~*~

“Grantaire!” The receptionist greeted him, “We haven’t seen you in a while, how have you been?”

Grantaire shrugged, “I’ve been alright,” He wasn’t there to talk about his problems, “I missed the kids, thought I could play for them for a bit, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, of course, head right up,” She pointed to the staircase, “They’ll be happy to see you.” 

Grantaire gave her a polite nod and smile, “Thank you.” He headed up the stairs and walked into the main play room. “Hey guys.” Some kids squealed with joy and ran to hug him, others (the ones who couldn’t walk mostly) smiled at him and clapped their hands, the nurses had that thank-god-you’re-here look on their faces and shot him grateful smiles. 

“They’re being a handful today,” One of them told Grantaire as he got the kids to sit in a circle, “And they really have missed you.”

Grantaire gave him a smile, “I’ve missed them too, they grow on you.” The nurse nodded and stepped back to let the kids fight for the spot next to Grantaire. The rest of the nurses maneuvered the wheelchairs so they were around Grantaire, and once everyone was settled down, he started playing. Grantaire started playing guitar when he was ten, and he fell in love with the instrument. It was another form of art he could use to let out his frustrations, his emotions. Then he started singing, and Grantaire didn’t have a bad voice _at all_. It was melodic and harmonious, and it could range from ragged to sweet. The kids clapped their hands happily, the ones sitting closer to him edged even closer, giving him awed smiles. 

Grantaire played two songs for them, then he got them to take turns while he let them touch the guitar. A particularly enthusiastic little boy went up to him and sat in his lap, giving him a wide grin. Grantaire smiled back and placed the guitar in front of him. He took the boy’s hand in his own and led it to the guitar, letting the boy’s fingers strum it softly. The boy laughed, as if it was the best thing he had ever experienced. And that was why Grantaire loved this place, and these kids. All of these kids who had so many different diseases, mostly physical, were so happy and cheerful and so full of life, that it made him feel the same way. The smiles on their faces, the joy in their laugh, it made him feel like the world wasn’t completely hopeless, that there was still some good left in it. Here, Grantaire could forget about himself, and focus on them, on making these kids happy, because above everything else, they deserved happiness. 

~*~*~*~

They were sitting on the couch of the apartment that Courfeyrac shared with Marius. Courfeyrac, however, had some afternoon classes so they had some time for themselves. Cosette rested her head on Marius’s shoulder, ignoring the movie, only to find him looking right back at her. “What was your childhood like?” He asked her suddenly. It was very much like Marius to do things like that, just ask her random questions to get to know her better.

Cosette gave him a sad little smile, “Are you sure you want to hear this story?” She took his hand and interlaced their fingers, “It’s not exactly rainbows and butterflies.”

Marius nodded his head, “I want to know you.”

Cosette looked at him for a second, licked her lips, and gave a nod of her own. “You know I’m adopted,” She started, and Marius nodded, “Well before Papa adopted me, I was living with this other family. It wasn’t a foster home, not really. See, my mom left me there because she believed those people would take care of me, since they had daughters of their own. She thought I would be better off there than in foster care. She couldn’t afford to take care of me.” Cosette sighed, “It was supposed to be a temporary thing really, she would come back when she had enough money for us to live comfortably.” She took a deep breath, “Long story short, she never came back. Papa started the custody battle once he found me, he promised my mother he would take care of me. The first day I saw him, was the day I found out she had died.” Marius’s hand held hers a little tighter, but he didn’t say anything. “I don’t remember much about that time, I sort of just blocked it out so much that it’s a blur. I remember they took advantage of me, that I was basically their slave, but I don’t remember their names. I don’t really want to know them.” Cosette shrugged, “Everything got better after Papa took me in, he gave me everything I could ever want, he treats me as if I were his real daughter.” She let out a small laugh,  “I kind of am, I guess; I consider him my real father.”

“And you’re happy?” Was all Marius asked, keeping his eyes on hers. She smiled, soft blue eyes shinning, and nodded. Marius leaned forwards and pressed his lips to hers, his heart jolting as it always did when it came to Cosette. “And I am too.”

~*~*~*~

Combeferre knew that Enjolras was very picky in his affections. He seemed cold and unfeeling to people who didn’t know him, but to his friends, he was known to be the touchy sort of affectionate at times. Today was one of those days, Enjolras didn’t even have to say anything, Combeferre could see it right on his face. Today was an affectionate day. 

Meaning Combeferre greeted him with a hug and then sat next to Enjolras, sharing things he found interesting when he was reading the day before. Enjolras leaned his head on Combeferre’s shoulder and just listened to his calm voice. “You’re my best friend.” Enjolras told him, not moving his head from its resting place. 

Combeferre knew that was Enjolras speak for _I love you_ (because no matter how affectionate Enjolras got sometimes, he always had trouble with those words). “And you’re mine.” Combeferre replied and kissed his forehead. “But I have to leave now, have to get ready for the meeting tonight.”

Enjolras nodded, “Are you all going to that protest tomorrow?”

“Most of us, yes.” Combeferre fixed his steady gaze on Enjolras.

Enjolras took a deep breath, “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Combeferre gave him a half smile, “Have you ever known me to be anything but?” And he exited the room.

Not five minutes had gone by before his door was opening again. It was Grantaire, his dark, curly hair was shoved under a red beanie and he was wearing ripped jeans and a blue t-shirt that made him look Really Good. What made Enjolras look twice though, was the guitar case he had with him.

“You play guitar?” Were the first words out of Enjolras’s mouth.

Grantaire quirked his eyebrow, giving him an amused smirk, “Hello to you too.” Enjolras only stared at him with an expectant look on his face. Grantaire sighed, “No I don’t, I found this on the street and figured it would be fun to bring it in.” Enjolras apparently didn’t detect the heavy note of sarcasm in Grantaire’s voice, Grantaire rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, I play guitar.”

Enjolras was ready with his follow up question, “Will you play something for me?” 

This one seemed to take Grantaire by surprise and he stuttered a bit when replying, “Um- yeah, I guess.” Grantaire was about to sit in the chair next to Enjolras’s bed when Enjolras moved over and made a spot for him.

Grantaire frowned as he set his guitar case on the floor and kneeled to open it, “Are you okay?”

Enjolras shrugged his thin shoulders, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Grantaire quirked that damned eyebrow at him again and Enjolras rolled his eyes, “Besides the obvious.”

Grantaire let out a soft chuckle, “No reason.” He lifted his guitar out of the case and sat next to Enjolras on the bed. “Any particular request?” The was a small smile on his lips.

Enjolras shook his head and leaned closer to Grantaire, “Play anything you want.”

So he did, and when he started singing, Enjolras could feel himself melting on the inside. Grantaire’s voice was nothing short of beautiful, and Enjolras wanted to listen to it for forever. He didn’t recognize the song, but he didn’t remember to ask him afterward. Enjolras ended up leaning his head on Grantaire’s shoulder and falling asleep to his voice, and Grantaire’s brows were furrowed in confusion at how Enjolras was acting but he had a small smile on his face. This was enough for them, for both of them. 

~*~*~*~

When rallies like this came up, the Amis needed to support each other. Jehan, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bahorel, Marius, Combeferre, Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet were all preparing themselves. Grantaire and Cosette were on bail duty, as it was sure to be violent. Though this was an authorized protest, the police were sure to intervene, but they needed that. They needed the media attention this would grab, they needed to get word out to the people that they would not stand for these attacks on other countries.

They were all quiet, it was almost eerie. They had decided to meet in Combeferre’s and Enjolras’s apartment, as it was the largest. It was five in the morning, and they were all pretty nervous. Combeferre and Joly were preparing medical kits, two were to be left with Cosette while another would go in Combeferre’s car and the last one in Musichetta’s. Courfeyrac was supposed to deliver a speech, meaning he was currently taping cardboard to his chest, as were Bahorel and Feuilly, who would stand as his body guards of sorts. Bahorel was also making sure everyone knew the drill, if you got arrested, ask for an attorney, state that you’re exercising your right to remain silent, and say nothing else. Bossuet brought up how the cops had acted last time, and how it would be harder to get away from them this time around. No one was supposed to fight them, make sure they made the first move, and how it would be better to just give in and get arrested if you’re sure you cannot get away. Once everyone was prepped, Combeferre stepped up and spoke to them all, “We all know how this will go,” They all nodded, “But we still need to do it, for the good of the people. To let them know we do not agree and we will not stand for our nation’s decisions.” 

Solemn heads nodded all around the room, “Alright then,” Combeferre grabbed two of the medical kits, “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've figured out that I can post maybe twice a month if I keep this writing schedule, and that's the best I can do tbh
> 
> Ok so I spent all summer volunteering at a children's hospital like the one Grantaire went to, it was for children with physical disabilities. And it was one of the best summers of my life, you really get close to those kids and I love them all so much. And usually hospitals like this really do need help, cause (for example) in the one I volunteered at, most kids were forcibly taken from their families because they were being abused/mistreated and were just in a bad situation. Meaning they don't get all that many visitors, so volunteers are important. So if there's a children's hospital like this close to you that you can go to, I say do it, because it really is one of the most rewarding experiences I've ever had. 
> 
> And yeah, like always, feedback is very much appreciated :)


	16. We Stood Tall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Cosette and Grantaire worried sick, the police being assholes, and Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About chapter names: i'm just gonna name them the first thing that pops into my head ( ~~nO THAT WASN'T WHAT I WAS DOING BEFORE~~ )
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

The rally started out rather smoothly, which wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it set everyone a little bit on edge because now they had to wait for the mess to start. And oh did it start.

~*~*~*~

Grantaire and Cosette were in the back booth of the Musain, waiting for Marius’s periodic text updates to Cosette. So far everything seemed to be according to plan, the police were staying out of it.

It was weird for Marius to decide to attend the rally, he usually missed those and the protests. Either way, those texts were the only thing keeping Grantaire and Cosette calm; so it wasn’t a surprise that they both got incredibly worried when they stopped.

An hour passed.

Finally, Marius sent one more text.

**Marius: we’re in trouble**

~*~*~*~

Enjolras was a ball of nerves, not that he would ever admit it. The week was up and this was the day he was to get his results. The results that would let him know if he needed another round of chemotherapy, or if he had gone into remission. 

The first time he was diagnosed, Enjolras went through two rounds of chemo. Three rounds the time after that. He wasn’t sure if he would be lucky enough to get away with just one this time. Enjolras fidgeted with his phone (Combeferre had given it back the day before), he wanted to call Combeferre, Courfeyrac, anyone; but he knew they were all at the rally and probably wouldn’t answer. That was another thing, he was worried about them, it was the first rally they attended without him and he had no idea what was going on. 

Enjolras decided to go down to the hospital gardens to wait for his results; the nurses wouldn’t allow him to go outside often due to his immune system failing him, but once in a while they would. He could feel his hands shaking and couldn’t stop his foot from tapping. Enjolras was rarely ever nervous, but his cancer test results were something that always did this to him. He was torn between trying to not let his hopes up, but desperately hoping he had gone into remission and was done with this, and would never need to come back in for chemotherapy again. 

Enjolras just wanted his life back.

He spotted Dr. Lamarque coming towards him.

~*~*~*~

Grantaire and Cosette looked at each other after they read the text, then simultaneously dived toward the bar.

“We need to change the channel.” Cosette said to the barista, her usual smile was gone.

The barista didn’t dare argue with her (a mistake he had made once before, but that was another story) and handed over the remote. Grantaire took it and started surfing through the channels, trying to find any coverage of the protest. And oh did they find coverage.

It wasn’t good.

The news station was playing a video of someone giving a speech. Of Courfeyrac giving his speech; they could see Bahorel and Feuilly standing below the makeshift stage. Courfeyrac looked angry more than anything, and people were listening to him, you could tell just by looking at the faces in the crowd. “We will not let the government make choices for us! We will not keep quiet! We will not let them attack innocent people! If the government tries to fight us, we will fight back!” The crowd roared.

That was when the fighting started. It was evident the police were the first to strike. Policemen were surrounding the stage, one punched Bahorel, another went for Feuilly. Courfeyrac hadn’t stopped talking, “Look at this! They’re trying to keep us quiet! Trying to stop us from fighting! They will not succeed! We will not let them succeed!” And he was tackled after that. Feuilly and Bahorel helped Courfeyrac up, pushing away the police man that had attacked him. Courfeyrac had a split lip and a cut on his cheek. Feuilly and Bahorel weren’t in a better state. They heard someone yelling close by.

The channel cut back to the newscaster. “Oh shit.” Grantaire said, and Cosette looked for more coverage on the rally. They were desperate, they needed to know what had happened. They didn’t find anything new.

~*~*~*~

“You won’t stop us!” Jehan was screaming, he could see Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Bahorel surrounded by police, most turned to look at him when they heard him. Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Feuilly looked surprised to find it was Jehan, sweet and gentle Jehan, who was looked downright scary at the moment. His mouth was angry, his hair was everywhere, and he looked ready to pounce on anyone who dared touch his friends. Jehan got closer. “You’ll never be able to stop us. Sure, arrest a few of us, most of the nation has already seen you.” He pointed out the cameras. “So go ahead, give the people more reason to fight against you.” Feuilly had crept away while Jehan was talking, he looked back when he heard a thud; one of the police men had pushed Jehan to the ground, he was handcuffing his hands behind his back. The same was being done to Courfeyrac and Bahorel (who saw him and nodded, understanding that he was going to look for the rest). 

Feuilly plunged into the mass of protesters, beginning the task of looking for Combeferre, Joly, Musichetta, and Marius. After years of living with Grantaire (who had a knack for disappearing), Feuilly was good at finding people. He saw Joly and Musichetta first, Joly had his medical kit on hand. “We saw everything.” Musichetta explained.

“I wanted to try and convince the police to let me clean their wounds first, before they’re taken away.” Joly frowned then taking a good look at Feuilly, “I should do that for you too.” Feuilly only had a scraped cheek from when he was pushed into the pavement, it was nothing. 

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it, hurry if you want to catch them.” He nodded and them and kept on his way. After about half an hour, Feuilly spotted Combeferre, at the edge of the fray, using the second medical kit to treat wounded protesters. He was a bit worried about how he hadn’t seen Marius and Bossuet yet, but he would look for them after telling Combeferre what had happened. 

He walked up to Combeferre and waited for him to finish bandaging someone’s wrist before speaking. “Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Bahorel were arrested.” Feuilly said. “Joly and Musichetta were on their way to try and clean up their wounds, and I have yet to find Marius and Bossuet.”

Combeferre clenched his jaw and nodded. “Let me finish up here and I’ll help you look.” Feuilly very nearly got goosebumbs at Combeferre’s tone of voice, and he was infinitely grateful it wasn’t directed at him. Combeferre wasn’t angry, no, he was absolutely furious. If there was anyone’s wrath to fear right now, it was Combeferre’s. Feuilly wouldn’t be surprised if he took down the entire police force by himself, and he certainly wanted to judging by how he looked.

After bandaging three more protesters, Combeferre joined Feuilly in the search for Marius and Bossuet. It took them about half an hour, but they eventually found them both with Joly and Musichetta, near where they had parked. 

“Where were you guys?” Feuilly asked them.

Bossuet grinned, “Talking to news stations, we both talked to about three each, and more protesters were talking to others.” 

Marius nodded, “The rally got a lot of coverage, apparently.” Then he frowned, “Where are Bahorel, Jehan, and Courfeyrac?”

“They were arrested.” The shadow was back over Combeferre’s face. “We should head to the Musain, wait for their calls.” He said, and the rest of them nodded, piling into the two cars. The rally was practically broken up by now, most of the police force gone. But they had all seen what happened, all knew what the police, the government, were capable of doing to try and keep their own people quiet. And none of them were okay with it. 

~*~*~*~

Enjolras could feel his heart thumping in his chest, felt his hands start to sweat. He was nervous, so incredibly nervous. He took deep breaths, triying to even his breathing, wiped his clammy hands on his shirt. 

Dr. Lamarque sat besides him. 

~*~*~*~

Cosette and Grantaire were worrying themselves to death. It had been hours and they had tried calling everyone, no one would answer. They kept looking through the news channels, but gave it up when nothing new came up. Éponine had gotten out of work an hour before and had joined them, she was just as worried as Grantaire and Cosette.

Which is why they practically jumped on Combeferre when he walked through the door, followed by Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly, Musichetta, and Marius. Cosette hugged Marius close to her when she saw him, looking relieved that he was ok. After a minuted she pulled away and smacked his arm, “You had us worried sick, all of you.” Éponine covered her mouth to hold back a laugh at Marius’s face, Grantaire bit his lip but his shoulders were shaking with laughter. Marius looked like a scolded puppy, it was slightly adorable but highly amusing. 

After they had sat down, Grantaire finally asked, “So, Jehan, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac?”

Joly nodded, “Arrested.”

“How did you get away?” Cosette asked Feuilly, “We saw the video of when the cops ambushed you, Courf, and Bahorel.” She said to his questioning look.

“Jehan makes a pretty good diversion.” Feuilly laughed a bit, but it didn’t have much humor in it. He was more worried about the fact that they hadn’t called yet. 

“That’s who we heard yelling then.” Grantaire said, then he leaned back on his chair. He had started drinking about an hour after they saw the video and was on his third beer (which, really, was nothing for him). He gave a short laugh and shook his head, “He would.”

The conversation drifted off to other topics as they waited, and Combeferre checked his phone. He had five missed calls from Enjolras, and three texts. That’s when Combeferre remembered, “Enjolras gets his results today.”

~*~*~*~

Enjolras turned to look at Lamarque, his doctor handed him a piece of paper.

He read through it quickly, knowing exactly what to look for. He found it.

Enjolras looked up and met Dr. Lamarque’s eyes, a question in them. 

Lamarque nodded, “Yes, Enjolras, you’ve gone into remission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~what is that a somewhat happy ending? yeah enjoy it while it lasts~~
> 
>  
> 
> also this happened forever ago, but I forgot to mention that I made some changes to chapter 10 a while ago, and I'm slightly happier with that chapter now. Just thought I'd let you guys know in case you wanted to read it.
> 
> I also meant for this to be a lot longer, but I'm pretty ok with it this way. Um yeah
> 
> feedback would be very much appreciated :)


	17. A Question in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Home, Enjolras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I HAVEN'T UPDATED THIS IN A MONTH I'M SO SORRY (more apologies in the end notes)
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

Not five minutes after Combeferre’s announcement, Grantaire got a phone call from the police station. “So you gonna come get me, or what?” It was Bahorel. 

“Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta will be there soon, how much’s the bail?” And after they discussed it shortly, they hung up. Combeferre had stepped away from the group to call Enjolras. Grantaire wasn’t sure what privacy he was hoping to get because they were all staring at him. 

Combeferre turned back around, “He’s not answering.” There was a short second of silence before they all stood up and ran towards Combeferre’s car. He looked at his friends over his glasses, “You won’t all fit in there, you know.” 

Feuilly, Grantaire, Cosette, Marius, and Éponine looked at each other, and then Feuilly yelled, “Shotgun!”

“Okay, not fair, that leaves four of us to ride in the back.” That was Éponine. Feuilly just shrugged at her and climbed into the front passenger seat when Combeferre unlocked the car. 

“I’ll ride on Marius’s lap.” Cosette said with a shrug, which caused Marius to stutter and blush furiously. Grantaire thought it might’ve been adorable if he didn’t look like he was about to faint. 

Grantaire got into one of the window seats before Éponine could, leaving her to argue about getting stuck in the middle, “Problem solved.”

Combeferre was nervous, really nervous. He had been there the second time Enjolras went into remission, but he also remembered the state Enjolras was in before that. He shuddered when he thought that, if he hadn’t gone into remission, Enjolras would go back to being that sick, that close to death. Without noticing, Combeferre sped up a bit; nobody commented on it. 

~*~*~*~

 _Thump_. Enjolras’s eyes snapped open, he squinted into the fluorescent lights that he hadn’t gotten to turn off before he fell asleep and tiredly looked at the door. Cosette, Marius, and Éponine were a pile on the floor while Feuilly and Grantaire looked down at them and tried not to laugh. Combeferre was staring right at Enjolras, trying to figure out what he had been told. 

Enjolras stared right back for a good minute, enough time for Marius, Cosette, and Éponine to stand up and for Feuilly and Grantaire to start fidgeting. Then he smiled. A true smile, all teeth showing, not the small twist of lips that had been present for the past two months. _He’s fucking gorgeous_ , Grantaire thought to himself. No matter how much weight he had lost, how pale he was, his lack of hair, or how dark the bags under his eyes were, in that moment, Enjolras looked just like he had before the chemotherapy, before this round of cancer.

“I’m in remission.” Enjolras told them, and let out a laugh, followed by an _ompf_ as his friends all threw themselves on his bed to hug him. “I’m being discharged tomorrow,” he said, mostly to Combeferre, “And I know, I’ll have to keep using the wheelchair until I regain my strength.”

When they all managed to disentangle themselves and sit around him, Enjolras said, “So how did the rally go?”

“We have so much to tell you, you have no idea.” said Cosette, and Éponine threw her an amused look.

“First thing you should know,” that was Combeferre, “Bahorel, Jehan, and Courfeyrac were arrested."

“But-” added Grantaire when Enjolras’s lips tightened, “Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are on their way to get them.”

“Besides that,” Feuilly put in, “We actually got quite a few news stations to cover the rally, not only local but national too.” 

Marius shrugged, “Apart from the police stepping in, I think it went well.”

Enjolras look surprised, “You actually went to the rally?”

Marius blushed, “I thought it would be good to get more involved in Les Amis.”

“I think that’s great, Marius.” Enjolras had a small smile on his face that Grantaire tried to commit to memory so he could draw it later. First he would make the outline in pencil, then he would go for charcoal, so he could get all the sharp angles of Enjolras’s face just right, then the shading, but how would he do the lighting? Hospitals didn’t have exactly the most flattering light so he would need to change it but- He was snapped out of his reverie by someone snapping their fingers in front of his face, “Grantaire,” Enjolras said when he noticed he had finally gotten R’s attention, “Are you alright? I said your name three times.” 

Grantaire tried to act normal, or as normal as he ever did, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit tired, what were you saying?”

The corners of Enjolras’s mouth tightened slightly, “It wasn’t important.” He said curtly, then turned to talk to Combeferre. 

Grantaire frowned, not understanding how that could’ve pissed off Enjolras. No, it didn’t piss off Enjolras, it annoyed Enjolras. When Enjolras was annoyed with him, he tended to ignore him, but when Enjolras was angry at him (which, to be honest, was what Grantaire strived for) he gave him his undivided attention, if only to yell at him. Grantaire was sure he had fucked up. 

He remained quiet for the rest of the hour, until Combeferre had kicked everyone out of the room because Enjolras was starting to fall asleep. “Tomorrow?” Combeferre asked before closing the door.

Enjolras nodded, “Tomorrow.”

~*~*~

Grantaire was awoken by frantic knocking on the front door. He was the lightest sleeper of the three, usually waking up in the middle of the night anyway. Jehan slept like a rock, and Feuilly, who worked so hard, had learned to take advantage of whatever sleep he could get. 

He was still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he opened the door and said, “Whoever the fuck you are, you better have a fucking good reason for fucking waking me up at fucking three in the fucking morning.” 

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” Came the voice of Éponine. Grantaire lowered his hands from his face and stared at the smirking face of ‘Ponine. What worried Grantaire, however, was behind that smirk.

“What happened?” Grantaire was feeling consciousness creep upon him and resigning himself to it. He was more worried about Éponine’s appearance, however. She looked ragged, to say the least, and he was pretty sure he saw dried blood on her cheek. 

The corners of Éponine’s mouth dropped slowly, “It’s not-” She shook her head, took a deep breath, “Look, it’s not important right now, I just need someplace to crash. I don’t need a bed or anything, I’ll sleep on the floor.” She was looking at her feet, “Please.” It sounded like she had to physically force that word out. 

Grantaire stepped aside and let her into the apartment. “If you want anything from the kitchen, just help yourself, I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, R.” He heard her near whisper behind him. 

He went into his room and got an old t-shirt and basketball shorts of his. He also stopped by the hall closet to get an extra blanket. When he got back, Éponine was sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of water in hand. “Got you these, if you want to change.” He handed her the clothes and she nodded her gratitude. “And you can take my room, it’s the only open door down the hallway, bathroom’s the first door on the right.”

Éponine looked as if she was about to protest but Grantaire stopped her with a look and she hopped off the counter. She stopped right before going into the hallway, and walked back to Grantaire, surprising him with a hug. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. 

Grantaire gave her a small smile as she walked away and set himself on the task of trying to move Jehan so he wouldn’t be taking up all the bed.

“What are you doing in my bed?” Jehan asked drowsily the next morning, not bothering to open his eyes. 

“Éponine’s in my room.” Grantaire said, and then they both drifted off to sleep again.

~*~*~*~

“They have to be here somewhere.” Marius heard Courfeyrac mutter from where he was sticking his head into his closet. 

“Um-” Marius went to sit on Courfeyrac’s bed, “What exactly are you looking for again?”

Courfeyrac turned around with the most exasperated look on his face and sighed, “My super-mega-uber-fun-party-decoration-kit.” 

“Right.” Marius was quiet for a minute, “Why are you-” 

“Because Enjolras is coming back home today and there is no way in hell we are throwing him a party without decorations.” Courf didn’t even bother turning around that time.

“Do you really think he would be up for-” Marius started just as Courfeyrac straightened up and pulled out a huge briefcase from his closet. “...Something like that?” 

Courfeyrac only grinned at Marius. He propped the suitcase on his dresser and put in the combination to open it. Marius opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally saying, “Only you would keep party decorations in a _briefcase_.”

Courf looked back at him as if he had just insulted Mako Mori (which you do not, under any circumstances, do in front of Courfeyrac), “Party decorations are of the utmost importance. Watch and learn, Pontmercy.”

And so Courfeyrac proceeded to rope Marius into helping him decorate Combeferre’s an Enjolras’s apartment, he even had a banner made (“I know a guy”). 

Combeferre hadn’t been in the apartment all day, as he had morning classes and then he had to pick up Enjolras from the hospital, so he wasn’t there to stop Courfeyrac from making it look like a rainbow had puked all over the place. He hung streamers from the ceiling, he pinned the banner on the living room wall(CONGRATS ON THE REMISSION),  he broke out the confetti and covered every single flat surface with it, he even ordered a piñata (“Don’t you think you’re going too far, Courf?” “It’s not a real party without a piñata.”). Finally, he sent Marius to the store for food and invited everyone over. 

The look on Enjolras’s face was priceless. Not only was he surprised, he was also furious (but Courfeyrac swore Enjolras was trying not to smile).  “Welcome Home!” Everyone yelled simultaneously (well, almost simultaneously). Slowly but surely, the frustrated look started to ebb away and a small smile twisted the corners of Enjolras’s lips upwards. 

~*~*~*~

“I need to talk to you.” Courferyac had sat himself down besides Combeferre. Everyone else was either talking, dancing, or pretending like they weren’t just waiting for a moment to sneak off to make out (Marius and Cosette). 

Combeferre raised a single eyebrow at him, “What’s up?”

Courfeyrac wrung his hands together, adjusted his bowtie, ran his hands over his hair, basically did absolutely everything but look at Combeferre. “I might just maybe probably quite possibly have a crush on Jehan.” 

Combeferre didn’t say anything at all, but Courf could feel his stare. Hesitantly, he looked up and said, “Well? Say something.”

He shook his head, looking like he was trying not to smile, “And you just realized this now, Courf?”

“Am I obvious, does that mean I’m obvious?” Courfeyrac turned to face Combeferre, “Does Jehan know? Has he told you anything? Or does he just not like me back? I don’t know what to do, ‘Ferre, I need help.” 

Combeferre’s eyebrows had shot into his hairline. “I’d figured you’d be pretty level-headed about this.” Courf’s expression yelled _WHY??_ “Because you’re kind of the one with the most “experience” out of all of us.”

Courfeyrac sighed, “One night stands are not romantic, they’re sexual. I’m romantically constipated, ‘Ferre, and Jehan is so,” He gestured, as if that could explain what words couldn’t, “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Have you considered asking him out on a date?”

“I’ve tried, but it always ended up being a friend hanging out sort of thing,” Courfeyrac’s shoulders were slumped, “This is Jehan we’re talking about anyway, I can’t just go up to him and use one of my stupid pick up lines.”

“Maybe you should try poetry?” Combeferre sympathized with Courf, but he had never really been in this situation himself. Romantic relationships just didn’t hold any appeal to him. 

Courfeyrac looked at him as if he had just reached enlightenment. “Poetry.” He threw his arms around Combeferre, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “You’re the best, ‘Ferre.” 

Combeferre smiled and shook his head as Courfeyrac walked away and started dancing with Musichetta. Combeferre looked over to the couch, where Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting, and had to fight to suppress the grin that was threatening to break out on his lips at the look on Enjolras’s face. 

Grantaire was confused. He was incredibly confused because Enjolras was sitting _very_ close to him, legs-touching close, and he kept looking at him and smiling and why was Enjolras looking and smiling at him, did he have something on his face? Grantaire also felt his heart beat three times as fast at the appearance of said smile and had to stop himself from fidgeting as much as he wanted to. He was pretty sure Enjolras tried to start a conversation about three times, but Enjolras was also _very close_ to him so Grantaire couldn’t exactly focus at the moment.  

The moment the small frown, directed at Grantaire, appeared on Enjolras’s face, Grantaire was off the couch and making up excuses about how he needed to feed his cat and how maybe he left the oven on in the apartment, and he just needed to go. Grantaire ran out the door before he could say anything. Enjolras stared after him, feeling confused. “Since when does R have a cat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get it get it, the chapter name is my lame sense of humor
> 
> (I also don't know if you all caught it, but Combeferre is, in fact, aromantic in this fic. As an aromantic myself I needed to make at least one the amis aro as well. More on his sexuality next chapter, I promise.)
> 
> ok so I'm really sorry for not updating this in a month, my schedule usually allows for updating once every two weeks but I was just so busy, and then shit happened and friends come before writing. And writer's block.  
> So I'm really sorry, and I'll try to not let it happen again. (and maybe if I actually outline again I'll have another chapter next week??? Idk so no promises)
> 
> Also I had a really good idea (well, I think it's good) for a les amis next to normal AU, and it's probably been done before but the only n2n au I've seen was never finished so???  
> Yeah if I find the motivation and time maybe I'll write it
> 
> Also, since this is a work in progress and I haven't written ahead in the fic, chances are I will go back and edit things, and I will let you know when I do but I'm also a forgetful person so sorry if I forget for like 3 weeks before I tell you guys.  
> I think I already mentioned it, but I edited chapter 10 ages ago, and in a pretty significant way so if you guys wanna check that out...yeah ok I'm done bye
> 
> Oh and feedback makes me very happy :)


	18. Play Me a Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have all the backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I have a decent title, you can't expect a decent summary from me too  
> Yeah so this chapter is alternatively titled "the one where I pretty much only wrote backstory"
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING: brief mentions of abuse (verbal and implied physical), mentions of death, mentions of alcohol.**
> 
> Also, I read this over a few times and tried to fix all the mistakes I found, but if you guys spot anything I missed, please point it out to me :)
> 
> Title from: Piano Man by Billy Joel
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

Grantaire has always thought that his greatest flaw is how much he cares. Caring makes him volatile, it makes him angry, it makes him vulnerable. The more he cares, the more he gets hurt. He’s conflicted constantly, most of the time he just wants to push everyone away, to hang a sign on himself that says ‘ _Danger: Do Not Approach_ ’ simply so no one would care about him, or pretend to care. Grantaire firmly believes that he hurts everyone he gets close to, and in the process of pushing them away, he hurts himself. 

Which is when he starts to run away. It’s a pattern really, and he’s been through it enough times to recognize when it’s starting again. It’s always the same, things seem to be getting better before everything starts crashing down around him. The worst part is, it’s usually his fault. It’s a terrible, vicious cycle that he subjects himself to every single time. The first step is always running away. 

His thoughts are traveling faster than a freight train and he can’t get them to stop. His breath starts coming faster and faster,  _too fast_ , he thinks, and it’s not long until he can’t even stand anymore and collapses. He’s not crying, there’s no crying during this step, because it is a step, it’s the same thing, this always happens over and over and over again and he can never stop it and there’s nothing he’ll ever be able to do to stop it he’s worthless he’s useless he should just stay away from the world and save everyone the trouble of having to deal with him of having to pretend to care because surely no one could ever care about an idiotic good for nothing drunk like him certainly not someone like Enjolras amazing incredible Enjolras who resembles gods more than humans and who makes Grantaire’s soul feel like it’s soaring with every sneer he throws his way and if only Jehan could hear what he’s thinking he’s positive it’s poetic genius but Enjolras, Enjolras could never care about him and will never care about him but Grantaire can’t stop himself from hoping and that hope is what hurts him the most. 

Because although he doesn’t believe in anything, somehow, he believes in Enjolras. 

Grantaire’s breathing starts to slow down and his shoulders sink with the weight of his realization, “I believe in him.” The floor starts to feel very comfortable to him, and even though he feels far too sober, he slowly starts to drift off, right there, in the middle of the living room.  _As if he would ever believe in me._

_~*~*~*~_

Combeferre was a quiet kid, he was that kid who started reading when he was about two years old and hadn’t stopped since. He came from a stable family with a decent income which is how (with the help of a partial scholarship) he was able to attend that supposedly fantastic private school which supposedly the smartest kids in the state attended. If you asked Combeferre today, he would tell you it was a bunch of classicist and elitist bullshit. However, that was the school he attended and where he ultimately met Enjolras. It was all thanks to his parents, really. Combeferre’s parents thought he was too quiet and didn’t engage in social activities as much as a fifteen year old should, so they pushed him into trying out for the football team (he never saw the logic in calling it soccer).

Apparently no one had ever told Enjolras that teenagers were supposed to be pimply and awkward in general. At fifteen, Enjolras looked pretty good. He was tall (though a bit lanky), his looks weren’t as great as they were present-day, but he never had acne and he was never even close to ugly. He carried himself with pride, even seeming stuck up at times. Enjolras wasn’t all that amazing at football though, but he wasn’t terrible either. Enjolras never seemed to be terrible at anything. Combeferre, on the other hand, had the potential to be outstanding at football, and it was evident from those first try outs. 

They were standing next to each other as the coach announced who had made the team and who hadn’t. Enjolras had raised his chin and stuck out his hand, at the time he was about an inch taller than Combeferre. “My name is Enjolras.” He had said confidently. 

Combeferre shook his hand with a strong, sure grip, which seemed to impress Enjolras, “I’m Combeferre.” Okay, being completely honest, Combeferre thought Enjolras was just another pretentious kid when he first met him, he truly had no idea that he would become his best friend. 

Enjolras gave him a small smile, “It’s nice to meet you.” And that’s how it all started. 

The first time they really talked to each other was when they were paired up for a project in their United States history class. To this day, neither of them could actually recall what the project was, only that it seemed completely pointless at the time. Enjolras invited Combeferre over to his house to work on it and he accepted. 

The first thing that struck Combeferre was that Enjolras’s family had their own driver, and that’s who came to pick them up from school. This fact threw Combeferre’s eyebrows into his hairline but he restrained his comments. The second thing was, Enjolras lived in a mansion. It wasn’t an exaggeration, he lived in an honest to god mansion with a butler and a fountain out front, the basic stereotype. 

Enjolras waved to the butler and led Combeferre to his study room (yes, Enjolras had a room solely dedicated to studying). “Are you hungry? We can eat something before we start.” He offered. 

Combeferre regained himself and stuttered out, “Um- sure, I guess.”

Enjolras nodded, “Follow me.” He led Combeferre down three different hallways (Combeferre swore he could get lost in that house) before coming up to what was probably the biggest and fanciest kitchen Combeferre had ever seen in his life. There was also someone else in the room, and that someone else was undoubtedly Enjolras’s mother. 

Enjolras visibly stiffened when he saw her, his back was straight, his shoulders taut, his mouth a thin line. “Hello, Mother.” The words were spoken with a strange coldness, with detachment. Obviously, Enjolras didn’t get along with his mother. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” She tilted her head to the side, an artificial smile on her face. She was dressed in a crisp business suit and her hair had too much hairspray in it. 

Enjolras looked back at him, as if he just remembered that Combeferre was there. Enjolras took a step back so he could stand beside him. “This is Combeferre, we’re working on a project for school. Combeferre, this is my mother, Marie.”

Combeferre gave her a nod and said, “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Enjolras moved past her to the pantry, Combeferre following hesitantly beside him. “Enjolras, have you taken your medicine?” Marie asked without turning around.

Enjolras stopped and turned his head, “Mother, you know I-” 

“Take it.” Then she turned, “Now.” Her expression left no room for arguments. 

Enjolras moved to one of the many cabinets and retrieved a small bag. He unzipped it to reveal an impressive amount of bottles and pills. He served himself a glass of water and took everything he needed to as fast as he could. When he put away the bag he turned to his mother. “Happy?” She gave a curt nod and walked out of the room. Enjolras stood still, bracing his arms on the counter, for a few seconds after his mother left. Abruptly, he turned around and stalked back to the pantry. He grabbed a bag of chips and asked Combeferre, “Are these okay with you?” Combeferre nodded, not trusting himself to speak at that moment. “Great, let’s go.”

Enjolras led him back to his study room, where he gestured for Combeferre to sit wherever he liked. Once he was settled on the couch and Enjolras on an arm chair, Combeferre cleared his throat, “So,”

“I’m sorry about that.” Enjolras said before Combeferre could continue.

Combeferre shrugged one shoulder, “It’s no problem.” Neither said anything after that and Combeferre could see that Enjolras was still tense. “You know,” Enjolras looked up to meet Combeferre’s gaze when he spoke, “You could talk about it, if you want.” He shrugged again and adjusted his glasses, “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” 

That seemed to drain some of the tension out of Enjolras’s posture, as well as the room. His mouth tugged up into a small smile, “I’m alright, thank you though.”

After this they got started on their project. About an hour later, when they were almost finished, Combeferre dared to ask,  “May I ask you a question?”

Enjolras looked at him with an intrigued expression, “Go ahead.” 

“You’ll probably find this rude, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” After hearing this, a small frown appeared on Enjolras’s face, but Combeferre continued, “Why do you need to take all that medicine?” 

Enjolras’s face filled with realization and he even gave Combeferre a soft smile. “I had forgotten that you were new this year.” Enjolras shrugged before looking Combeferre in the eyes, “I had cancer, leukemia to be precise. I was diagnosed when I was thirteen and I just went into remission a couple of months ago. The medicine helps to deal with the side effects of some of the medication I was taking during chemo.”

If Combeferre was expecting anything, it certainly was not that. “Wow I- thank you.” Enjolras looked confused at that. “I mean, it can’t be something that’s easy to talk about. So thank you, for telling me.”

“No one’s ever had that response before. Usually people say something along the lines of “I’m sorry”, or they think I’m contagious.” Enjolras had an earnest, if somewhat vulnerable look on his face. 

“Seriously, contagious? Now that’s just ridiculous.” Combeferre grinned, earning himself a larger smile from Enjolras. 

This was the true start of their friendship, which only became stronger from then on. Combeferre would leave school with Enjolras often, and sometimes Enjolras would leave with him, but not as frequently. The reason for that would be that they were usually left alone when in Enjolras’s house, but Combeferre’s mother would check on them often. This wasn’t really a bad thing, in fact, Combeferre’s mother was a sweetheart, but the boys would rather have been alone together, uninterrupted. 

Enjolras and Combeferre’s friendship grew stronger quickly, but it wasn’t like any typical friendship, especially not what was commonly seen from two boys. It wasn’t unusual for them to be seen holding hands, or hugging before they left to different classes, maybe even kissing the other’s cheek. To Enjolras and Combeferre it was all platonic, they weren’t interested in dating each other, their friendship was just more physical than what other people were used to. They didn’t really give a damn what anyone else thought though. 

They were teenage boys, just starting to discover themselves, and they were also each other’s support system. The point was, they were incredibly close. 

One day they were in Enjolras’s bedroom, discussion the upcoming elections or the country’s current economical state or something of the sort when Enjolras stopped and turned to face him, “Can I kiss you?”

If Combeferre was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Yes.” Was his only response. Enjolras moved closer to him and placed his hand on Combeferre’s cheek. Slowly, he leaned closer until his lips were touching Combeferre’s. It wasn’t more than a peck and Enjolras pulled away after a second. His hand moved to the back of Combeferre’s neck and his head to Combeferre’s shoulder. 

Combeferre could hear Enjolras’s rattled breath, “‘Ferre,” he said and Combeferre began to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, a comforting gesture. “I’m gay.”

Combeferre nodded, “That’s okay.” Enjolras raised his head, “I still think the same of you.”

“I don’t like you though,” Enjolras realized what he said and backtracked quickly, “I mean, I don’t have a crush on you.”

Combeferre smiled at him, “I know that.”

“I just wanted to know what it felt like.” Enjolras shrugged and looked down at his hands. 

“Hey,” Combeferre put his hand under Enjolras’s chin and raised his head, “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Combeferre knew Enjolras was feeling vulnerable, he could see it in his eyes, and he just needed to be there for his best friend as well as he could. Any thoughts he had been having about his own sexuality were pushed aside for the moment. 

Enjolras quite literally threw his arms around Combeferre and hugged him as tight as he could. “I love you, you know that?” He had said, which surprised Combeferre because while Enjolras would show his affection through touches, he rarely ever did through words. 

“Yeah, yes, I know that.” Combeferre hugged him back. “I love you too, Enj.”

After a minute, Enjolras pulled back with a sheepish smile. Combeferre had a small smirk on his face, “You know, that was hardly a kiss.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow, “We could try again if you’d like.”

And then Enjolras nodded, a smile lighting up his face. Combeferre was the one to press their lips together this time. It was clumsy, what with both of them being completely inexperienced. Their teeth clacked together and they weren’t exactly sure what to do with their hands. Slowly, however, they started to learn from each other, and learn what the other liked and didn’t. Enjolras absolutely loved when Combeferre took his bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it or tugged on his hair, while Combeferre almost completely lost it when Enjolras ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth or kissed his neck. Somehow Combeferre ended up lying on the bed with Enjolras straddling him. When they pulled apart, lips red and swollen, and became aware of their position, they started laughing as only two best friends ever could. Enjolras rolled to the side to lie beside Combeferre and rested his head on his shoulder. Suffice it to say, that wasn’t the only time they made out. 

“Enjolras!” Combeferre’s voice surprised Enjolras, they hadn’t seen each other since the end of the previous semester, as Enjolras’s family took him on vacation all of summer. They did constantly call and text each other, though. But when Enjolras turned around and actually looked at Combeferre, that was his biggest shock. Combeferre seemed to have aged about three years in the two months Enjolras was gone. Not only was his voice deeper, but he was now taller than Enjolras by at least three inches (that couldn’t have just been over summer, could it? He was well over six feet tall), his hair was shorter, and his face was sharper, more angular, revealing a sturdy jaw and good cheekbones. His broad smile revealed a row of straight, white teeth where there had previously been braces. In short, puberty had been very, very good to Combeferre, especially for him being just sixteen. Enjolras didn’t look very different at all,  if a bit more tan (but still beautiful, always beautiful).

Enjolras shook himself out of his reverie and hugged his friend, who he had missed more than he was willing to admit. “How I’ve missed you.” Was the first thing Combeferre said, though, but quickly added, “I need to talk to you, now if you’re not busy.”

They were both early for school, they always were, and there was barely anyone around. They sat in the small quad behind the school, practically alone. “Of course, what is it?”

Combeferre took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses, an old nervous habit of his. Then he looked up into Enjolras’s blue eyes, “I’m bisexual. But wait, don’t say anything yet.” He added as he saw Enjolras open his mouth. “I’m also aromantic.”

Enjolras frowned, “I’ve never heard of that.”

Combeferre nodded, understanding, “I hadn’t either until this summer. I had a lot of time to kill and I spent it most at the library. I came across the concept and started doing more research on it. There’s an entire spectrum, I can tell you more about it later. Point is, I don’t feel romantic attraction to people, as in I don’t feel any desire to date people or anything like that. I do, however, feel sexual desire.” He stopped, but Enjolras could see he wasn’t finished. “I just hadn’t said it out-loud until now, sorry.”  Combeferre gave him a small smile, “Anyway, I always knew there was something strange about me. Everyone I knew always had crushes, they always wanted to go on dates, and I just didn’t really understand it. I mean, I read about it, I’ve read plenty of books where the main characters are in love, but I always thought it weird how I never felt that way.” He shrugged, “I’ve never really wanted a romantic relationship with anyone, so after coming across the term, I figured I fit under it. It helped, finding a label for it; I was confused about it for so long, I’ve never met anyone else like me before. It helps, to know that I’m not just some freak.” Combeferre finished with a shrug. 

Enjolras didn’t hesitate before pulling him into another hug, and Combeferre was very grateful for it. “Thank you,” Enjolras said, “For sharing this with me.” They held on to each other for a long time before Enjolras pulled back to look his friend in the eyes, “If you were conflicted about your sexuality, why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

Combeferre shook his head and gave him a small smile, “I’m not entirely sure, I think it was more something that I needed to figure out on my own.”

Enjolras nodded, “Yeah, I get it.” That night, Enjolras learned as much as he could about the Ace and Aro spectrum. This was the beginning of a chain of events. Through this, Enjolras would learn more about social justice, learn things about his own government that opened his mind to how corrupt it truly was. This is the year Enjolras’s eyes were truly opened. 

That was the first day of the 11th grade. About three months later, Enjolras fainted in class and was rushed out of the school in an ambulance. Combeferre was the third (after Enjolras’s parents) to see him the day after, as he wasn’t allowed inside that first day. 

“Hey, Enj.” Combeferre greeted him as he walked inside his hospital room. “How’re you feeling?”

Enjolras shook his head, “It’s back, ‘Ferre, I know it.”

Combeferre wasn’t one to offer empty comforts so he didn’t say anything. He just sat next to his best friend and held him close as Enjolras shook in his arms and tried in vain not to cry. 

“I’m scared.” Enjolras admitted quietly, so quietly that Combeferre almost didn’t hear it. 

Combeferre stroked Enjolras’s hair, in the way that he knew calmed him down, “It’s okay to be scared, Enj.” Enjolras only nodded.

Combeferre spent all the time he could at Enjolras’s side, even more than usual, after the fainting incident. He even accompanied Enjolras to some of his chemotherapy sessions, per Enjolras’s request. When Enjolras had to stay in the hospital indefinitely, Combeferre would visit him every day. 

He was there during the worst of it. When an infection practically destroyed Enjolras’s immune system, causing his fever to skyrocket and uncanny hallucinations. Combeferre stayed the night with him, when no one really thought he would make it. No one except Combeferre, that is; Enjolras’s own parents seemed to have lost all hope. 

Enjolras pulled through, though, like he always seemed to do. Combeferre visited him after his allogeneic bone marrow transplant (it turned out Enjolras’s father was a fit donor for him), and after his umbilical cord blood transplant (his aunt had given birth and donated the stem cells to him). And Combeferre was there when Enjolras got his PET scan results after his second round of chemo, when he found out he had gone into remission. He hugged his friend tightly, it was only a week before Enjolras’s 17th birthday, and thought that maybe miracles did exist.

Combeferre was the one to help Enjolras catch up on the school work he had missed, he was the reason Enjolras never had to repeat a grade and managed to pass all his tests. Combeferre and Enjolras were close, to put it simply, and that wasn’t likely to change any time soon.

~*~*~*~

Grantaire woke up about five minutes before Jehan and Feuilly got back to the apartment. He managed to get himself into bed, saving his roommates the trouble of worrying for him. He did notice that they both opened his door to check on him. Twice. He could hear Jehan’s quiet voice through the door, “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

Feuilly’s response, however, Grantaire did not hear. “I hope so, Jehan, I hope so.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Grantaire to have nightmares. They weren’t the wake-up-sweaty-and-screaming kind, they were the emotional-torture kind. A living hell custom made by his own mind for his nightly entertainment. 

He was five years old again, lying on his bed, listening to the screaming, to plates shattering against the floor, the dead silence. Footsteps on the stairs. Three knocks on the door. “Grantaire? Are you awake?”. Then he wasn’t in his bed anymore, he was in the middle of the street, walking, no,  _running_  after a car, he could feel the burning path his tears left on his cheeks, the ache behind his throbbing eyes. He was gone, he wasn’t coming back. He was cowering against a kitchen corner, his mother with a bottle swinging from her hand. “It’s all your fault! He left because of you, you worthless piece of shit, we never should have kept you.” The bottle smashed against the counter. The glass tangled in his hair and tinkling to the floor. 

Grantaire opened his eyes slowly, feeling more tired than he had been when he fell asleep. The memories hurt, they always did. His father’s goodbye, his futile chase, the one time his mother was drunk. Grantaire, however, swallowed down the hurt and turned to look at his alarm clock. 4 a.m. He’d had enough sleep.

~*~*~*~

Feuilly was barely a year old when his father died, he didn’t have any recollection of him at all. Just stories his mother told him before she got sick, before she started to forget.

It all started when he was six years old, and it was over by the time he was seven. In what was roughly a year, he would watch as his mother slowly lost herself, until he lost her. It was a type of brain cancer, the name was too complicated for young Feuilly to actually learn. 

He remembered sitting by his mother’s bedside, he remembered watching her slowly lose the ability to walk, how she started losing her memories, she started losing her hair. Doctors would whisper, as if Feuilly couldn’t hear them either way. As if he couldn’t see the social workers that were desperate to take him away. No one was heartless enough to remove the boy from his mother’s side, she was all he had left. He lived in the hospital, the nurses started to bring him food along with his mother’s, the second bed in the room was practically declared his. The nurses took care of him, mostly, since his mother couldn’t. But Feuilly quickly learned how to take care of himself.

There was a point when his mother forgot to speak English all together, and was only able to communicate in her native tongue, Polish. Feuilly was the only way the nurses and doctors could understand her. He worked as a translator of sorts, having grown up speaking both languages. Not only would he have to translate his mother’s words for the doctors, but also the doctors’ words for his mother. 

The last thing she forgot was his name. She forgot her son before she forgot his name. It was the last thing she uttered, “Feuilly.” And she touched the boy’s hand. She could say nothing else. Feuilly could tell she didn’t recognize him.

About a week after that, she stopped breathing.

Not even thirty minutes had passed since the flatline had woken him that he was being herded into an office, a social worker’s office. He couldn’t remember a single word from the conversation, he could remember a small trophy in the woman’s office, however, he remembered wondering what it was for. He couldn’t remember the woman’s face, just her small trophy. 

From then on, Feuilly was herded from foster home to foster home. Some were okay (but he was moved anyway), some were abusive (he remembered these the most vividly), some were harsh (some people didn’t know how to deal with a parentless fourteen year old), some were cold. It became obvious after he turned thirteen that he wouldn’t be adopted by anyone. He went through a total of fourteen foster homes before he turned eighteen and left for college. 

Feuilly had educated himself more than school had educated him. He always found his way to a library, sometimes walking for miles and miles, it didn’t matter to him, in order to be able to provide himself with the best education he could. It worked, in the end, it got him his scholarship, and his escape. 

It wasn’t long until he met a young artist like himself, shaggy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. They became quick friends. 

Grantaire first told him about the apartment at the beginning of their second year. It was incredibly cheap rent (for unknown reasons, Feuilly wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth) in a relatively decent (sort of) neighborhood that was close to the university. They calculated and figured out that they could actually afford to live there together, they moved in two days later. 

Feuilly’s life had improved since he was a teenager, he had an education, he was on his last year of university, he had fantastic friends. He was grateful, so grateful, for all of it, because he knew what it was like to go without it. Although at times he felt like he was working himself to death, Feuilly thought it was ultimately worth it. And it definitely was. 

~*~*~*~

“Can I ask you guys something?” Grantaire said, taking a sip from his second beer of the night. Around him were Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel. Grantaire had walked into his favorite bar, desperate for a drink, when the trio spotted him and called him over. Grantaire took the first lull in the conversation as a chance to bring up something he had been curious about for a while. 

Joly shrugged, “Go ahead.”

_This is stupid, and none of my business, why do I even care?_  “Why didn’t Enjolras’s parents come to visit him?” Simultaneously, the three men opposite him looked down, none of them wanting to really answer that question. 

Grantaire was about to tell them to forget it, that it was dumb of him to ask, when Bossuet spoke up. “They don’t have the best relationship, per se.”

Grantaire nodded, “Alright, I’m no stranger to bad relationships. But Enjolras got to be pretty sick, I’d figured they’d visit him at some point.” 

Joly shook his head, “No, they haven’t seen each other since his parents moved away. They pay his rent, though Enjolras hates it but Combeferre and Courfeyrac convinced him to let them for various reasons, and they also keep him on their health insurance plan and pay for any additional expenses his medical treatments might require.”

Bahorel had his beer bottle by the neck, tapping the bottom against the table. “They don’t really like Enjolras, though, as in, they really only give him their money for the sake of appearances more than anything. Apparently, Enjolras’s father is a big-shot in the corporate world and it wouldn’t look good if he didn’t help his sick son. Enjolras hasn’t had a good relationship with them since he was a baby probably, and he doesn’t plan on starting one anytime soon.”

Grantaire frowned, well the bit about Enjolras’s father working in the corporate world certainly was interesting, but not all that surprising. It was pretty much common knowledge that Enjolras came from money. He just hadn’t expected how detached Enjolras’s parents seemed to be from their son.

After that the conversation turned to other topics as the four of them steadily got drunker, Grantaire half as fast as everyone else but drinking nearly twice as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I actually meant to have this by last week, but then backstory happened and I ended up writing about twice what I usually do so um. Yeah, consider this my apology for not updating for like a month a bit ago...
> 
> And I debated with myself for so long on if I should’ve left the “I believe in him” realization out and have Grantaire say it to Enjolras in the future instead. But I thought it was much better for character development and such if I had Grantaire admit it to himself first. So I would really love to hear thoughts on this. 
> 
> Oh and about Feuilly being able to speak Polish and English fluently at 6 years old, I didn’t use my own experiences because I didn’t start learning English until I was around 6 or 7. But my 7 year old cousin has lived in the USA all his life and he has been able to speak both Spanish and English fluently from a very young age. And yes, he’s able to translate and all that too.
> 
> This chapter was also headcanons galore basically (one of my favorites being Combeferre having a complete transformation thanks to puberty, Combeferre’s hot okay)
> 
> yeah so I would really really love feedback on this, it was a lot of fun to write and I would really like to know if you guys liked it, so please comment! :)


	19. Los hijos de la libertad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a march  
> some talking  
> and then some other stuff happens i’m not telling you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M REALLY REALLY SORRY THIS IS LATE AGAIN
> 
> title from “Preciosa” by Rafael Hernández  
> Preciosa translates to Beautiful  
> “Los hijos de la libertad” translates to The children of liberty
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Courfeyrac burst in through the door of Combeferre’s and Enjolras’s apartment, carrying his laptop in one hand and soy milk in the other. “So I got you guys your milk, you’re welcome, but I actually do need to talk to you about something.”

Combeferre still had his nose buried in his book, not the slightest bit disturbed by Courfeyrac’s abrupt entrance. Enjolras was on his own laptop, probably arguing with conservatives online or whatever it was that he did in his free time. Courfeyrac leaned against the kitchen counter until Combeferre neatly inserted his bookmark and looked up at him, “We’re all ears.” Just then Courfeyrac noticed that Enjolras had shut his laptop, probably at the same time Combeferre had shut his book, those two were weirdly synchronized sometimes. 

“Okay, so,” Courfeyrac sat in the armchair across from the two of them and turned his laptop around to show a facebook page. “My mom just sent me this link. It’s this march they’re going to do back home, and in a few other places here with large Puerto Rican communities, to try and get Oscar López Rivera, who’s been in jail for 32 years, released.” He looked at Enjolras now, knowing this part was going to catch his interest the most, “He was put in jail, here, in the USA, for something like ‘trying to overthrow the American government’ but he was really just protesting for the independence of Puerto Rico.”

By “home”, Courfeyrac had meant Puerto Rico. He had lived there until he was ten years old. Then his parents got divorced, there was a huge mess with the custody battle, but in the end, his mother had gotten almost full custody. They ended up moving to the USA, and Courfeyrac would go back and visit his father during summer or whenever he could. Courfeyrac loved the little island, and he was incredibly proud to be Puerto Rican (the amis have gotten pretty sick of him spontaneously yelling “ YO SOY BORICUA, PA’ QUE TÚ LO SEPAS” on any given opportunity, or randomly breaking out into a surprisingly decent rendition of “Preciosa”). There have been a number of people who have tried to shut down his nationality, reminding him that Puerto Rico is a colony (no one dared to bring up that “commonwealth” bullshit) and that Puerto Rican isn’t an internationally recognized nationality. Those were Courfeyrac’s most spirited debates, and he always won them. He was the one to always bring up issues happening in the Caribbean, and usually the rest of Latin America as well. His number one would always be Puerto Rico though, as he was completely for their independence.

(Courfeyrac wasn’t the only one with Caribbean roots in their group, Musichetta’s parents were from St. Lucia, but she hadn’t been raised there. She had visited the island a few years back though.) 

Courfeyrac continued, “And I know we’re mostly working on protests against the possibly impending war, but I think this would be nice to do.” Then he actually unleashed his puppy eyes on Enjolras, and then Combeferre. 

“When’s the march?” Combeferre asked, this having peaked his interest, and he also knew how important this was for Courfeyrac.

“This Saturday.” It was currently Thursday. 

“We’ll be happy to go with you.” Enjolras said, an intense look on his face, as if daring either of them to tell him he couldn’t. 

Courfeyrac looked at him for a second, “You know you’d have to use your wheelchair, Enj. It’s a mile.” He raised his hand against Enjolras’s protestations. “Yes, I know you’re in physical therapy and building up your strength again and it’s been three weeks. But the chemo really took it out of you, and ‘Ferre and I would feel a lot better if you went with your wheelchair.” Bless Courfeyrac for not actually voicing what both Combeferre and he were thinking, no way could Enjolras walk a full mile yet. 

Enjolras had a slight frown on his brow, but nodded, “Alright.”

Courfeyrac grinned brightly, “Excellent, now I just have to tell everyone else.” And with that he closed his laptop and made his way out of the apartment. Combeferre and Enjolras simply went back to what they were doing, already used to, well, Courfeyrac.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, R.” Feuilly called to Grantaire, before he could lock himself in his room again, as Grantaire always seemed to do these days. “Mind if I talk to you for a second?”

Grantaire visibly sighed and turned around to face Feuilly. He had hoped to make his getaway quickly after Jehan left for work for this exact reason. When Feuilly looked closely at his friend, he had to try to not let his worry show. Grantaire’s usually light brown skin looked extremely pale. He had dark bags under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in a week, and his blue eyes looked dimmer than usual. “What is it?” There was a beer bottle swinging from his left hand, Feuilly doubted it was his first of the night. 

“Let’s sit down.” Feuilly nodded towards the dining table and he could see Grantaire’s shoulders drop further as he resigned himself to the conversation.

They settled down at the table, Grantaire slouching in his chair and refusing to meet Feuilly’s eyes, while Feuilly nervously twisted his hands, shifting in place every so often. 

Finally, he just came out with it, “R, your psychiatrist called me.” Grantaire visibly stiffened and lowered his head further, “She said you haven’t been to your appointments in three weeks, and that she’s been unable to get a hold of you.”

Grantaire only shrugged, “Your point?”

Feuilly frowned, “My point? My point is, why have you been missing your appointments, R? I thought you were feeling better; Jehan and I both did.” 

That startled a bitter laugh from Grantaire, “What’s the fucking point in going to those anyway? It’s not like she even cares about me, I’m just paying her to listen to me whine and give me prescription drugs.”

Feuilly ran his hands through his messy hair, tugging at the multiple knots. “Have you been taking your meds, Grantaire? Don’t lie to me.” Grantaire looked up and met Feuilly’s eyes for a second, only a second, before he had to break his gaze away, a blush rising in his cheeks. Feuilly sighed and closed his eyes, holding the bridge of his nose. He had to stay calm, he had to keep himself from screaming and trying to shake some sense into Grantaire, because he knew that would do nothing but make him retreat even further. When he had composed himself he said, “Why, R? They were working, we were seeing good results.”

Grantaire scoffed and straightened up a little on the chair, “Maybe you were, I still felt the same.” He held up a hand when he saw Feuilly open his mouth to reply, “No, don’t bother. I know what you’re going to say. But the thing is, I’m as worthless as always, Feuilly.” He waved away Feuilly’s protests. “I know what you’re going to say, just as much as you know that I won’t believe it for a second. Yeah, I have you and Jehan but even that feels like a lie at times. The rest of our friends, if they even consider me that, they probably don’t give a damn about me, why would anyone? And Enjolras-” Grantaire took a deep breath, Feuilly didn’t dare say anything. “Enjolras probably hates me.” Another bitter laugh. “Come to think of it, he’s probably more indifferent to me than anything else.” Somehow that hurt him even worse. He raised his nearly full bottle to his lips and drained it completely. 

When he stood up to get another, Feuilly said, “It’s Enjolras then?”

Grantaire stopped, “What’s Enjolras?”

“He’s what’s got you feeling like this?” Feuilly asked. 

Grantaire was shaking his head before Feuilly had even finished the question, “Enjolras hasn’t done anything, Feuilly, none of this is his fault.”

“I know you have a crush on him, Granta-” Feuilly was saying when Grantaire interrupted. 

“I don’t have a crush on him!” Grantaire exclaimed, turning to face Feuilly. “I don’t- Enjolras is just- And I’m- I need another beer.” Feuilly stayed silent. Grantaire didn’t actually _know_ what it was that he felt for Enjolras. He didn’t know if he wanted to date him, fuck him, sit and stare at him for a while, or punch him in the face. Maybe all of those at once. He felt _something_ , but calling it a crush didn’t seem appropriate. He was also trying his damn hardest to not think about him and instead drown all his sorrows in alcohol. 

As Grantaire made his way back to his room, Feuilly called after him, “Is there anything I can say to get you to take your meds again?”

Grantaire just looked at him over his shoulder and laughed, and he didn’t stop laughing until he was locked in his room again. 

Feuilly dropped his head into his hands, trying to relax a bit. He would talk to Jehan about it, he might be able to get through to Grantaire. In the meantime, Feuilly had two essays due in the next week as well as a test to study for to keep him distracted until Jehan came back from work. 

When the door had slammed behind him, Grantaire slid down the wall until he was sitting, his knees held to his chest. He drank to convince himself he wasn’t shaking, he drank to convince himself he wasn’t feeling hands all over his body, to convince himself he wasn’t seeing their faces every time he closed his eyes, he drank until he couldn’t remember his own name. 

And even then. Touches, phantom touches all over him. Grantaire’s skin was crawling. It wasn’t long until he passed out. 

~*~*~*~

“ _¡Ola de la mar, ola de la mar, tráigame la paz, tráigame la paz y libertad para Oscar!_ ” Courfeyrac kept singing with the _parranda_ that was near them. 

Courfeyrac and Marius were the only ones in Les Amis that could speak Spanish, and out of them only Courfeyrac was confident enough to sing. Now, to be fair, he had tried to teach it to the rest of them, but it hadn’t exactly worked out.

Standing around Courfeyrac were Enjolras, Combeferre, Bahorel, Bossuet, Grantaire, Cosette, and Marius. Feuilly, Éponine, Joly, Musichetta, and Jehan had to work. It’s not that it felt awkward, but the rest of them definitely did feel a bit out of place. Bahorel and Bossuet were dancing along next to Courfeyrac, though Bossuet was tripping over his own feet more than dancing. Marius and Cosette were talking to each other, Combeferre was talking to everyone around him, probably about Les Amis, which left Grantaire standing behind Enjolras’s wheelchair. 

“Where did Bahorel even learn to dance like that?” Enjolras said after a few minutes, turning his head to look at Grantaire. 

A small smirk made its way to Grantaire’s lips, “Courf and I taught him, he’s doing pretty well.” 

“You dance?” Enjolras looked surprise. 

Grantaire shrugged, looked at his feet, “A little, I suppose. Not much.”  (Will Enjolras ever admit how attractive he thought this was? Probably not.)

“Hey guys, it’s starting!” Courfeyrac shouted, just as the crowd started moving around them. They managed to stay together, for most of it anyway. Eventually, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Bahorel ran off, dancing with each other, to try and be closer to the front. Marius and Cosette ended up drifting apart from the group. Combeferre, Enjolras, and Grantaire were left. Enjolras had pushed himself until that moment, and though Combeferre hadn’t said anything yet, he knew Enjolras was getting tired. As much as he wanted to be able to complete the mile by himself, it was difficult to do. Combeferre knew, though, that if he offered his help, he would only get pushed away. Enjolras had to learn his limits, and so they waited until he asked for their help.

Enjolras pushed himself hard enough, and completed the march by himself (and although no one said anything, they were glad to see the progress he was making), a proud smile on his lips. There was another activity after the march, but they decided to head over to the Musain.

“And it’s not fair, not that I ever expect this government to be, but imprisoning people for fighting for their beliefs, for using their voice.” Courfeyrac shook his head and opened the door for the rest of his friends. They all headed to their booth in the back. “And yes, I know, it happens all the time, it’s happened to us multiple times, but thirty-two years in prison for that. There have been murderers in prison for less time than that.” Courfeyrac’s usually easy grin was gone, replaced by a set frown.

Combeferre put his hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We won’t give up on this. He received the presidential pardon before right? And there were marches in multiple places, in San Juan, in D.C., in Chicago, NYC. If the president pays attention, I see no reason why he won’t grant him the pardon.”

Courfeyrac’s frown deepened, “But what if he doesn’t pay attention?” Which was always their worry, that someone, the people, the president, the government, wouldn’t pay attention, wouldn’t care, and that nothing would ever change. 

No one really had any answers for him. Courfeyrac’s phone vibrated and he picked it up to check it. His eyebrows almost met his hairline when he opened it and he turned it to show everyone else, “My mom met Jacobo Morales and this is the unfair of the unfair.”

“And he’s back.” Bossuet said with a fond smile.

~*~*~*~

It was nearing ten at night when Éponine ran inside. “Okay, so not to make any of you panic or anything, but I sort of need to disappear for a few hours and I may need a bit of help with that.” 

She then proceeded to walk into the kitchen of the café without another word. There was a beat of silence before anyone spoke. “So did that seem a bit weird to anyone else?” Bahorel asked first.

“I, for one, am too curious, and maybe a bit too drunk to think this through so I’ll go outside first.” That was Grantaire. He stood and walked away on steady feet, surprising for a man who had been doing nothing but drinking since they got back. No one really tried to stop him. No one really thought about what might be so bad that it would send Éponine running. 

When the little bell above the door rang as Grantaire walked out, Éponine came back out. She quickly scanned the table, and noticed he was missing. “Now why the fuck would any of you think it was a good idea to go outside?” She looked, and sounded, more panicked than any of them had seen her.

Bahorel stood up and headed towards her, “What’s going on, ‘Ponine?”

Éponine sighed and shook her head. “I’m being fucking chased. Usually I would just pull a knife on the guy but he’s packing so it’s not like it would be the smartest thing to do. He used to work for my dad and I- I can’t seem to get rid of him.” She was trying her best to stop her voice from shaking, fear spreading goosebumps across her arms. 

“Fuck.” Bahorel said, before running outside to get Grantaire.

After stepping outside, Grantaire had walked down half the bock before freezing in place. He suddenly wasn’t standing on the sidewalk in front of a sandwich shop anymore, he was back in a dark bar, drinking his weight in beer. There were five men in the corner, eyeing him. One of them broke away from the group, bid the rest goodnight, and left the bar. Then the rest came closer to him.

Grantaire came back to the present, he realized he wasn’t standing anymore, he didn’t remember falling. _Fucking shit, it’s him. I know it’s him_. _The one that walked away_. His hands were shaking, he could feel himself start to hyperventilate. He closed his eyes and pounded at his head with shaking fists. He pulled at his hair, he scratched at his skin, anything to get it to stop. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped away. 

“Grantaire, R, it’s okay, it’s just me, Bahorel.” Bahorel was holding his hand out to Grantaire, palm up. It took Grantaire a minute to let the words sink in but he couldn’t move, he could only stare up at his friend. 

Then someone walked by, nodded at them, then kept walking past. It was a man, he looked perfectly ordinary, probably early thirties, generic haircut, nothing remarkable about him. Bahorel noticed how Grantaire shrank back and decided. _No way will this guy get any closer to the Musain_. 

And that’s how Bahorel proceeded to beat one of the greatest hitmen in the city to a pulp. He managed this surprisingly quick, even for him. He disarmed the guy and left him on the floor, alive, possibly no major injuries, but unable to stand back up at that moment. He would worry about the possible repercussions of that later.

Grantaire hadn’t moved throughout the entire ordeal. Bahorel approached him slowly this time, making sure he wasn’t startling him. “R, we need to go back inside.” Still, no response. Bahorel moved to touch his shoulder, making sure Grantaire knew his intentions. “Grantaire, I’m going to help you stand up, alright? Then you’re going to lean on me and I’ll help you go back to the Musain, okay?” Grantaire said nothing, but didn’t flinch away from Bahorel when he helped him stand, and walked along with him though Bahorel was still supporting most of Grantaire’s weight.

Bahorel got the two of them through the door and into the café. The first one who stood from the table and made their way to the pair was Enjolras. “Is he alright?” Then he got a better look at Bahorel, his bruised and bleeding knuckles and purpling eye, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, not so sure about R though.” Bahorel responded, while leading Grantaire to a chair. Almost immediately, Joly and Combeferre were examining him. Feuilly quickly made his way over with Jehan in tow. 

“Do you guys have any idea what’s going on?” Combeferre turned to them both.

“‘Ferre, he’s not responding at all. Physically, he’s fine, as far as I can tell anyway, but...” Joly shrugged, not sure about what he was supposed to do.

Jehan looked at Feuilly, not sure if it was alright to tell them about Grantaire’s medical history. Feuilly had the same question himself, though he seemed to make up his mind a few seconds later. “I can’t tell you much,” Feuilly started, “But R takes medication, a lot of it, I’ll leave it to him to tell you for what. And he stopped taking them about two weeks ago, would be my best guess.”

This didn’t seem to help Combeferre or Joly much at all. “Is there nothing else you can tell us?” Joly had gone into full med student mode.

Feuilly met Jehan’s eyes again. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, then stepped closer to Joly and said as low as he could, “I know Grantaire hasn’t told anyone, so I’d rather not share this with the group. He’s been diagnosed with PTSD, and when he’s off his medication, even when he’s on it really, he experiences these episodes. Usually I just wait it out, but it’s never taken him this long to come back.”

That seemed to be all Joly needed, though he was still unsure of what to do. “Do you know if his psychiatrist is available at this time? It would be best for R to see them.”

At that moment, Grantaire reached out his hand and grabbed Joly by the wrist. “No.” He shook his head and let go just as quickly as he had reached out.

All of the Amis seemed to crowd around him them, which only served to make Grantaire feel more panicked. Combeferre turned to them all and with a single look from him, they all backed off and went back to the booth. 

“Grantaire, are you alright?” Combeferre had turned his attention back to him. 

“I’m fine.” Grantaire said, seemingly back to his regular self. 

“R, I’m sorry, but I had to tell them.” Feuilly kneeled in front of him.

Grantaire looked like he had resigned himself to it, “I know, it’s fine, Feuilly.”

Jehan stepped up behind Grantaire and put his hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to talk about this later, you know.” Grantaire looked as if he had resigned himself to that too.

Grantaire looked around Jehan to the rest of the group, “You can all stop staring whenever you want, you know.”

They all pretended they hadn’t been doing so in the first place.

~*~*~*~

Slowly, everyone started heading home, until only Joly, Bossuet, and Enjolras were left.

“See that he gets home safe?” Combeferre had said to Joly.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home, ‘Ferre.” Enjolras had interjected.

Joly gave him an easy grin, “We’ll get him home, don’t worry.”

Now the three were alone and Bossuet said, “Out with it, Enjolras. I know something’s on your mind.”

Enjolras gave his friend a sheepish smile, “I was just- I was wondering how you two knew you were right for each other.”

“We’ve told you the story of how we met, right?” Joly began, and he knew he had but he also knew that Enjolras never paid close attention to these things. “Well, I was in one of my classes, when this guy came in late. And he sat beside me. After about five minutes he asked me what class it was. I told him it was Organic Chemistry.”

Bossuet broke in then, “And I said something along the lines of ‘oh shit’ and then tripped about three times when making my way out. It was the wrong class.” He shrugged, an easy smile on his lips.

Joly bumped his shoulder against Bossuet’s. “And then he came back about five minutes later to ask if I wanted to get coffee with him sometime and if he could have my phone number.”

“We’ve been together ever since.” Bossuet finished. 

Enjolras found it hard to believe that romantic endeavors could ever be so simple. Why the hell was he having so much trouble with his own? “That’s it? It was that easy for you guys?” They both nodded. “What about when you met Musichetta?”

This story Enjolras _did_ remember. It had been summer, so the amis decided to go swimming. Long story short, Bossuet had jumped into what he thought was the deep end of the pool but turned out to be about 4 feet deep. He ended up breaking his ankle; in three places. They rushed him to the hospital and then had nothing to do but wait in the emergency room. One of the nurses, who was on her break at the moment, saw them and came over to talk to them. She was the only one who managed to calm Joly down some. At the end of the night, both Bossuet and Joly had Musichetta’s number. 

“Same thing, really.” Joly shrugged, “We just sort of fell together.”

Enjolras nodded, not sure what to say next. He was confused, so confused. He liked Grantaire, in a romantic way, he knew that for sure. He also knew that Grantaire infuriated him endlessly, what with how he always had the perfect counter argument and how he always ran his hands through his hair and how he always seemed to have some sort of art supply or another smeared on his hands or splattered on his clothes and how there was probably this entire encyclopedia of information in his head that fascinated Enjolras immensely. His eyes were Enjolras’s favorite, while Enjolras’s own eyes were a dark blue, Grantaire’s were light and clear and beautiful. Enjolras often found himself staring at Grantaire’s hands as well, which he did often on long days at the hospital when Grantaire would visit him and sketch while Enjolras was “reading”; but the truth was, Enjolras couldn’t keep his eyes away from those hands, imagining how they would feel in his own, against his cheek, pulling at his hair. And Enjolras had it bad, he knew it too. When Bahorel had brought in an unresponsive Grantaire, Enjolras just only managed to keep himself from touching him, trying to get him to come back, because although he didn’t actually know what was going on, he knew it wouldn’t have helped. He didn’t even know if Grantaire felt the same way about him. Enjolras wasn’t even sure how much about Grantaire he actually knew; he felt like an open book in comparison to the other man.

“You should try telling him, Enj.” Bossuet suggested, interrupting Enjolras’s inner monologue.

“How did you...?” Enjolras looked nothing short of shocked.

“Courfeyrac.” Joly said simply, while shrugging on his coat.

Bossuet was putting on his scarf, “You should ask him to show you his powerpoint sometime.”

Joly put his hand on Enjolras’s shoulder, “Now let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preciosa is a song about Puerto Rico (you can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o74m1qggLHo) (yes it's the Marc Anthony version)
> 
> Puerto Rican Courf is actually my new favorite thing, this fits so well, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before
> 
> "ola de la mar, ola de la mar, tráigame la paz, tráigame la paz y libertad para Oscar" literally translates to "wave of the sea, wave of the sea, bring me peace, bring me peace and liberty for Oscar"
> 
> "Yo soy Boricua, pa' que tú lo sepas" is basically a Puerto Rican thing but yeah it roughly translates to "I'm Puerto Rican, for your information"
> 
> Jacobo Morales is a Puerto Rican actor and he’s awesome and I did get to meet him when I went to the march
> 
> The march for Oscar López Rivera is real, it took place last saturday (Nov. 23) in the places mentioned in the fic. (hahaha I still don’t have a set setting for the fic shhh)  
> So Oscar López Rivera was arrested 32 years ago in the USA for protesting for the independence of Puerto Rico. Basically everything I had Courf explain is true, I’m just going to tell you some extra facts. López Rivera was granted the presidential pardon by Bill Clinton, but not everyone else that was arrested with him was granted the same. So he refused to leave until they were all out. Now the rest are out, and he’s the last one in jail. There’s been no word from the president about this at all.
> 
> So I wanted to incorporate this into the fic because I was present at the march in San Juan, and considering I believe wholeheartedly that Puerto Rico should be independent from the USA, this actually hit closer to home than most things.
> 
> Oh, and a parranda is basically the Puerto Rican version of christmas carolling, except we really do it whenever we want really and I find it’s a lot more fun. (you can read more about it here if you want: http://www.elboricua.com/pr_christmas.html)
> 
> (Also I’m really pumped for christmas with Les Amis, like really really pumped)  
> (yes I will incorporate thanksgiving probably next chapter I kind of forgot about it my bad)
> 
> (About e/R, I did mention it's a bunch of angst right, the tag is up there, you were warned)
> 
> SO YEAH, please please let me know what you guys think, comments make my day.


	20. Still Hurting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s texting  
> And Thanksgiving  
> And more texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is the title of a song from The Last Five Years because I’ve been obsessed with it lately.
> 
>  
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING: scars, (implied) self-harm, eating disorders, mentions of suicide, depression.**
> 
>  
> 
> Pretty much for anything that’s up in the tags really. 
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

 

Courfeyrac figures it was about six in the morning when he woke up, picked up his phone, texted someone, and promptly fell back asleep. He didn’t remember this until noon when his phone dinged with a new text. Turns out he had asked Jehan to meet him at the Musain at one.

“Shit!” Courfeyrac jumped off the kitchen counter in Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment. “‘Ferre!” He ran into his friend’s room, slamming the door behind him. 

An hour later, Courfeyrac is sitting in one of the armchairs tucked in a corner of the Musain, rubbing his hands together and rocking back and forth. He can’t remember the last time he was nervous for a date; well, it wasn’t a date, he was just meeting Jehan for coffee, a totally normal thing for two friends to do. Or so he kept telling himself, and he was most definitely, certainly _not_ wishing it was a date, nope, of course not. 

A hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his thoughts, and Courfeyrac looked up to meet the eyes of Jehan. “Hey” he said, and sat down opposite to Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac froze for a second before saying, “Some say the world will end in fire, / Some say in ice. / From what I’ve tasted of desire / I hold with those who favor fire. / But if it had to perish twice, / I think I know enough of hate / To say that for destruction ice / Is also great / And would suffice.” Which was just about the last thing he had meant to say.

Jehan’s eyebrows were nearly at his hairline, a small smile on his lips, “May I ask why you’re quoting Frost at me?”

 _Shit, shit shit shit._ Combeferre hadn’t said Frost, but now he couldn’t remember _what_ Combeferre had said, only that it definitely wasn’t _Fire and Ice_ what the hell. “Um- I just-” Courfeyrac rubbed at the back of his neck, willing this _damn_ nervousness to go away already. “I learned that poem in high school, it was the only one I really liked when we did the poetry section one year. And I don’t know, I thought since you liked poetry...” Courfeyrac let the thought trail off, he wasn’t even sure where he was headed with that, but it was an excuse.

Jehan blushed slightly and his small smile widened. “O breathe a word or two of fire! / Smile, as if those words should burn me”

Quoting poetry should not be hot, if anything, Courfeyrac would expect it to be boring. He should’ve known better; nothing about Jehan Prouvaire is boring. And Jehan should stop looking at him like that because Courfeyrac was pretty sure he was blushing and that’s just wrong, Courfeyrac doesn’t blush, he makes _other_ people blush, it’s his thing, and he twists his hands faster, and tries to get his heart to go back to a normal pace but _Jehan Prouvaire just quoted poetry at him he can’t_. 

“You all right?” Courfeyrac looked up again and tried to get his act together.

“I quoted the wrong poem.” Courfeyrac said before he could stop himself.

Jehan laughed and it was the most endearing sound Courfeyrac had ever heard. “That’s all right, I didn’t exactly quote the most cheerful of poems to you.”

“I wouldn’t know either way.” Courfeyrac muttered, causing Jehan to shoot an inquisitive look his way. Courfeyrac shrugged, “Nothing, it’s nothing.” He smiled, “So how about that coffee?”

And that’s how Courfeyrac nearly made Jehan late for his class. They had been talking for about half an hour before Jehan looked down at his watch and cursed, “I’m going to be late, I’m sorry.” Then he hurried out, but not before kissing Courfeyrac’s cheek and saying, “I had a lovely time, we should do this more often.”

Courfeyrac was glad the back of his chair was facing the entrance, since that meant Jehan couldn’t see Courfeyrac turn an absurd shade of red and his manic grin as he walked away. 

~*~*~*~

Jehan got home from work at about ten that night. Feuilly was sitting on the arm chair, frowning. “What’s up?” Jehan asked as he dropped his bag by the door, moving on to take off his coat and scarf. 

Feuilly seemed to realize that Jehan was home then and stood up. “I don’t know what to do, Jehan.” He shrugged, running his hands over his hair. “He hasn’t been out of his room all day.”

Jehan kicked off his shoes and nodded, though his chest was tight with worry. “I’ll go talk to him.” With a pat on the shoulder, he walked past Feuilly and down the hallway to Grantaire’s room.

When Jehan opened the door he had to put his hand over his nose, it smelled terrible. There were empty beer bottles, bottles of cheap wine, vodka, whiskey, all kinds of alcohol all over the floor. Jehan tried to avoid them and step over them, but it was nearly impossible. “Jesus, Grantaire, it smells horrible in here.” Grantaire didn’t even move. 

Finally, Jehan managed to reach Grantaire’s bed and sat next to where he lay on his stomach. They were silent for about five minutes, before Jehan sighed and said, “Remember when you offered to let me live with you and Feuilly?” Grantaire was still, but Jehan could tell he was listening. “Remember how we promised each other that we would be each other’s support systems, that if something was wrong, we would tell each other.” At this Grantaire turned his head to face Jehan and nodded slightly, “Then tell me what’s wrong, R. I’m really worried about you.”

“Did Feuilly put you up to this?” Grantaire’s voice was rough, as if he hadn’t used it in a while (which he hadn’t). 

Well, he had, but Jehan had planned to do this anyway, so he decided to ignore the question. “You haven’t been to work for the last two weeks.” Grantaire kept silent. “I’m taking half your shifts just so you can keep your job, Grantaire.” Jehan had been working nearly as much as Feuilly these days. “You’re lucky our boss is as understanding as he is.”

Grantaire lifted his head to properly look at Jehan, at the dark circles under his eyes, how he was slouching with exhaustion. He turned around and sat against the headboard of his bead. Grantaire was shirtless, and though Jehan was dreading what he might find, he looked at his friend’s arms nonetheless. The new scars were at least a week old from what Jehan could tell, and they didn’t look as if they had been deep. When Jehan looked back up, Grantaire was looking right at him, as if daring him to say something.

“R, you’re about to lose your scholarship.” Was definitely something Grantaire was not expecting to hear.

It startled a bitter laugh out of him, “It was probably given to me by mistake,”  he shrugged, “I’m not cut out for school anyway.”

“Grantaire.” Jehan placed his hand on top of his, knowing that if Grantire started to go down that road, he wouldn’t stop.

“It’s the truth Jehan, and you know it.” The worst part was how certain he sounded, Jehan wished he could comfort him in some way, but it was nearly impossible to comfort and reassure Grantaire when he was hating on himself. Grantaire couldn’t meet Jehan’s eyes, afraid that he might find pity in them. “I’m just a waste of space, not really worth anything, what the hell would I even do with an art degree anyway.”

Jehan reached forward and put his hand on the side of Grantaire’s neck, his thumb smoothing across the stubble on his cheek. Grantaire looked up, Jehan felt like crying while Grantaire didn’t even look as if the words he was saying against himself were anything out of the ordinary. “Most of the time I just want to die, Jehan.” Grantaire said softly. He shrugged and pushed Jehan’s hand away, laying back down on the bed, “But I couldn’t even do that right.”

Jehan moved to sit against the headboard now, his hand settling into Grantaire’s hair, stroking the curls that probably needed a good washing. Grantaire didn’t complain, he even leaned into the touch a bit. 

“Will you-?” Grantaire started, but ended up cutting himself off. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“Tell me, R.” Jehan had momentarily stopped his petting but started back up again when Grantaire continued. 

“Stay with me tonight?” Grantaire looked back when Jehan removed his hand altogether, just to see Jehan nod and then strip off his clothes until he was just in his boxers.

“Of course.” Jehan said, slipping back into the bed, lying down on it this time.

Grantaire moved to curl against him, throwing an arm over Jehan’s waist and settling his head against his shoulder. They didn’t say anything else to each other that night, and Grantaire fell asleep to the feeling of Jehan caressing his hair. 

~*~*~*~

It was agreed that thanksgiving would be at Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s apartment, if only because those three had the apartment with the largest kitchen and a table that would fit all of them somewhat comfortably. 

A list was made and divided and everyone was meant to bring a different thing, most things being desserts (Courfeyrac made the list with help from Combeferre). 

Everyone was in the apartment by four, excluding Marius and Cosette who were spending Thanksgiving with Cosette’s father, which meant there was an incredible mess by five and they didn’t start eating until six. 

Everything had been going well, the food was all delicious. That is, until Courfeyrac said, “What’s the matter, Jehan? Not hungry?”

Grantaire looked up at Jehan, who was sitting across from him, and noticed how he hadn’t touched his plate at all. If he looked closely, he could see Jehan’s hands were shaking slightly, and he was tenser than he normally was. Everyone around the table turned to look at him, mostly with curious, lighthearted looks. Grantaire and Feuilly were the only ones that really knew what Jehan was thinking.

Jehan clenched his hands into fists and said between clenched teeth, “I’m fine, I just need-” He stood up then, nearly knocking over his chair, his breath coming much too fast. “I’ll be right back.” Then he ran out the door. 

Courfeyrac stood to go after him, but both Grantaire and Feuilly knew that it would do no good. One of them needed to stay behind and cover for Jehan while the other went to talk to him. Feuilly nodded at Grantaire, signaling him to go after, while Feuilly convinced Courfeyrac to sit back down and wait for him to return.

Grantaire was out the door and running down the stairs before Feuilly had even finished a sentence.

He found Jehan sitting on the front steps of the apartment building, shivering in the November chill, he hadn’t grabbed his coat on the way out. “I couldn’t do it.” Jehan said as Grantaire approached him. Grantaire sat down beside him, not saying anything. “They’re my friends, I should be comfortable around them, I’ve eaten around them before, but this time-” Jehan dropped his face into his hands, taking in shuddering breaths. Grantaire put his arm around Jehan’s shoulders, leaned his head against his. “It’s Thanksgiving, it’s a big deal.” Jehan shrugged and leaned into Grantaire.

“We could go back home, take some food with us, and we can eat there alone, if you want.” Grantaire said, rubbing Jehan’s arm to try to keep him from getting colder. 

Jehan shook his head, “No, no,” He took Grantaire’s hand and smiled at him. “I need to do this, they’re my friends, I should be able to do this.”

“Don’t let yourself get too overwhelmed, all right?” Grantaire waits for him to nod to stand up and pull Jehan with him. 

They walk back into the apartment and it’s like nothing’s happened, thankfully. Feuilly sends a questioning glance at Grantaire, and Grantaire nods to show that everything is taken care of. From the corner of his eye, he can see how Jehan is hesitantly picking up his fork, before poking at his food, not really eating it. He sees Jehan take a deep breath before he forces food into his mouth. Jehan keeps going like that until he’s finished about half the food that was heaped onto his plate, and Grantaire doesn’t do much to suppress the smile he sends Jehan’s way. 

After dinner, they do that thing where they all sit around in the living room and state the things they’re thankful for (Joly’s idea). The living room was not nearly large enough to accommodate all of them, which is how Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet ended up sharing the couch, while Bahorel claimed one armchair and Jehan the other. Grantaire and Éponine sat next to Jehan’s legs, Combeferre pulled in a chair from the table, and Courfeyrac and Enjolras sat next to Bahorel’s legs, right across from Grantaire. Gavroche came inside (when had he ever left?) and sat on Bahorel’s lap, quickly falling asleep. 

“Who wants to start?” Joly asked, he was leaning his head on Bossuet’s shoulder, his knees pulled up to his chest. 

“I will.” Combeferre said before leaning forward in his chair and looking around the room, a small smile on his lips. “I’m thankful that I have all of you in my life,”

“Don’t go getting all sappy on us now,” Courfeyrac teased, leaning his head on Combeferre’s knee.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Combeferre said before taking Courfeyrac’s hand in his own and looking right at him as he said, “I’m thankful that I have all of you in my life, except for Courfeyrac because he’s a little shit.” 

Courfeyrac gasped dramatically and pulled his hand away, “That was uncalled for!” But they could all see he was trying not to smile, knowing Combeferre was only messing with him.

Combeferre ruffled Courfeyrac’s hair, making him whine about how he had just ruined his hairstyle that had supposedly taken hours to perfect (it looked the same as always). “In all seriousness though, I’m very thankful for all of you, I’m thankful for my family, for all the opportunities I’ve had in my life,” He stopped for a second and turned to look at Enjolras. “And I’m thankful for Enjolras being in remission.”

“I’d toast to that.” Rang out Grantaire’s voice from across the room, his wine glass raised in the air. The rest of the Amis soon followed his example, smiling at Enjolras (who was blushing). “To Enjolras’s health.” He said, and downed his wine in one gulp. The rest of the room followed.

They all made their rounds, taking turns saying what they were thankful for, getting steadily drunker as the night went on. At some point, someone pulled out boarding games. It wasn’t until about three in the morning that they had all passed out in various places in the apartment, only Feuilly went home at a responsible time since he had to work the next morning. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta had retreated to their room. Bahorel had somehow fallen asleep in the bathtub, Courfeyrac was curled up in the armchair he had vacated, Jehan was in the other armchair with Éponine, Enjolras was on one end of the couch and Combeferre on the other, Gavroche was using Grantaire as a pillow, and Grantaire had found a pillow somewhere and was sleeping on the floor. Grantaire’s hand was outstretched, nearly touching Enjolras’s hand, which hung from the side of the sofa. 

Courfeyrac was the first to wake up the next morning; he took no less than a thousand pictures of them.

~*~*~*~

It had been about two weeks since thanksgiving, Courfeyrac was studying for his finals in Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment. Well, he was trying to study, if only _someone_ (Enjolras) would stop pacing. Combeferre had decided to take a study break because the pacing was driving him up a wall and was currently in the kitchen making tea.

That had been going on all morning, and it was now 11 a.m. and Courfeyrac felt like he was going to explode. On occasion, Enjolras would sit in the armchair, pick up his phone, stare at it for about 2 minutes, put it down, then stand up to resume his pacing. Courfeyrac couldn’t take it anymore, he practically yelled, “Spit it out, Enjolras, you’re driving us crazy!”

Enjolras stared at Courfeyrac for a minute, trying to decide if he should tell him what was going through his mind. He saw Combeferre standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a mug in his hand, and a single eyebrow raised. Finally, Enjolras sighed and sank into the armchair again. “I-” He stopped and took a deep breath, not meeting either of his friend’s eyes, “I don’t know how to invite Grantaire over.”

When he finally risked looking up, Courfeyrac was grinning like mad and Combeferre was not-so-successfully hiding his smile behind his mug. Courfeyrac leaned forwards and asked, “Why do you want R to come over?” The grin hadn’t left his face; if anything, it was getting wider.

Enjolras had already thought up an excuse, “I wanted to ask him if he could make some flyers for that rally we have coming up.” 

It was a terrible excuse and all of them knew it (Combeferre’s smile was obvious now). Enjolras sighed, rubbing at his temple. A second later, he stood up and headed for the bathroom. Combeferre and Courfeyrac looked at each other from across the room, holding each other’s eyes for a second, before they both simultaneously dived for Enjolras’s abandoned phone. 

Courfeyrac reached it first, he clutched it to his chest and sat in the armchair. Combeferre leaned against the back of the chair in order to be able to look over Courfeyrac’s shoulder. Courfeyrac pulled up a new message and started composing a text, only to be interrupted by Combeferre a few seconds later, “No, no, Enj would probably say ‘hello’ not ‘hi’.” Courfeyrac amended that and looked up at Combeferre, waiting until he told Courfeyrac what else to write. “There’s a meteor shower tomorrow night.” Combeferre said after a few seconds, “Invite him over to watch it with Enjolras.”

Just after Courfeyrac hit ‘send’, they heard the twist of the bathroom doorknob. Combeferre quickly took the phone and placed it back in the table before taking a seat on the couch, trying to act as natural as he could. 

Enjolras sat beside Combeferre and about three minutes of silence passed before they heard Enjolras’s phone _ding_ with a text. Enjolras opened it, biting his lip to try and hide his smile and hoping his blush wasn’t obvious (it was). 

**From Grantaire: ok, i’ll come over at 8**

Courfeyrac felt like christmas had come early and teased Enjolras for the rest of the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Courf recites to Jehan is “Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost  
> The poem Jehan quotes is “You Say You Love” by John Keats
> 
> So I finished school (I’m really sorry the chapter is late again but I had finals), which means I will now (hopefully) have more time to write and will get a couple of chapters in before I start again in January (here’s hoping, please nag me to write I suck at motivating myself)
> 
> (I’m also really excited about the next chapter just saying)
> 
> Oh and please please please comment, I love comments and feedback, they make my day.


	21. We Pick Ourselves Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a meteor shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pretty much e/R centred, enjoy 
> 
> Title is from Flaws by Bastille
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

Grantaire was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor when he saw Enjolras’s text (he was later informed by Feuilly that it didn’t hit their floor but the ground floor). He was tempted to text back asking if it was a joke when Jehan snatched his phone away and responded for him.

“What makes you think I’m going?” Grantaire had asked, taking his phone back.

“The look on your face when you first saw the text.” Jehan shrugged, “You looked happy, so you’re going.” 

Grantaire was trying to not let his mind wander much, because it was most certainly Not A Date, though it sounded very much like one, it was Not. He wasn’t actually sure what he felt at the thought of a date with Enjolras, mostly a mixture of fear, a stomach ache, and a delightfully warm feeling that he didn’t let himself focus on too much.

Not that he really could’ve because just then Jehan shoved his coat at him and dragged him off to work.

~*~*~*~

“Enjolras” He needed to find something to wear, anything.

“Enjolras” Was the apartment unusually messy, or was that just him?

“Enjolras” Maybe he should clean a bit before Grantaire got there, just to make sure they don’t look like complete slobs.

"ENJOLRAS!” Enjolras looked up from where he was digging to find a dustpan, just to see Courfeyrac and Combeferre staring down at him.

“What?” Was all he could think to say. He finally found the dustpan and pulled it out from under the sink. 

Combeferre had a slight frown but Enjolras could see that he was slightly amused. “You’re freaking out.”

Enjolras shoved past the two of them and into the living room, “No I’m not, don’t be ridiculous.”

“You always do this when you’re freaking out.” Courfeyrac points out, draping himself across the couch.

“I have no idea what you guys are talking about.” Enjolras turned around and headed back to the kitchen when he realized he didn’t have a broom. 

“He’s hopeless.” Courfeyrac said when he was out of the room, but there was a definite smile on his face. 

Combeferre shrugged, “I think he’ll be fine, eventually.” They could see Enjolras’s blond head (his hair had started growing back) pacing in front of the doorway.

“When should we tell him he forgot his pants?” Courfeyrac sat up when Combeferre threatened to sit on his legs. 

Combeferre sat beside him and took his text book from the coffee table, “At least he’s wearing underwear this time.”

Courfeyrac’s eyebrows nearly touched his hairline, “ _This_ time?”

Combeferre shook his head, but it wasn’t without fondness, “You haven’t had to live with Enjolras during finals week.”

“Courf!” Enjolras walked back into the room, looking so much like a lost puppy that Courfeyrac just wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and give him tea. 

“What’s wrong?” Courfeyrac asked, trying to keep the coo out of his voice.

“I’m freaking out.” Enjolras sank down into the arm chair, then looked down at himself, finally seemed to notice his lack of pants, and dropped his face into his hands.

Courfeyrac could feel Combeferre silently shaking with laughter next to him and had to try to keep his own in. He went to sit next to Enjolras, patted his back reassuringly. “Come on, let’s find you something to wear.”

He pulled Enjolras up by his arm and led him into his bedroom, Combeferre saluting him and wishing him luck. 

As Courfeyrac dug through his closet, Enjolras asked, “What will I even talk about?”

Courfeyrac emerged and looked at Enjolras closely, “It’s not the first time you two have been alone together, he visited you at the hospital all the time.”

“That was different.” Enjolras shrugged and picked up a shirt Courfeyrac had discarded. “What’s wrong with this one?”

Courfeyrac turned back to the closet, “How was that different?” Then he shrugged, “That shirt looks too casual, and you’d freeze to death if you go out wearing that.”

“Because I was in the hospital, that’s how.” Enjolras dropped the shirt again, “Isn’t it meant to be a casual thing?”

Courfeyrac dropped a pair of dark jeans and a grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt on the bed, “Yes, but it’s better to wear a nice sweatshirt than a ratty t-shirt.” Courfeyrac reached forward and shoved a beanie over Enjolras’s head, “Just talk like you used to when he visited you. And don’t forget your coat, it’s cold outside.”

He was just about to head out of the room when Enjolras said, “Courf,” He turned around, expecting to see Enjolras freaking out again. “Thanks.” Enjolras said with a small smile. 

Courfeyrac grinned, “No problem, have a good time tonight.” And with a wink, he was gone. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes and started putting on the clothes Courfeyrac laid out for him. He took a couple of deep breaths and checked the time, 7:30. Only half an hour more. Enjolras walked out of his room and sat beside Combeferre, who took one look at him and said, “You’re going to be fine.” And gave him a reassuring smile.

God he hoped so.

~*~*~*~

“What if he changed his mind?” Grantaire was in the bathroom, trying to figure out how to tame his hair as Jehan sat on the toilet seat. 

“He would’ve texted you.” Jehan said simply then stood up and started brushing Grantaire’s wild mane of hair. Then he ruffled it, which seemed counter productive, but made his curls look somewhat decent. 

“You’re a magician.” Grantaire stated simply, walking out of the bathroom and reaching for his coat. 

Jehan smirked and shrugged, “I try.”

Feuilly walked out of the kitchen then, “Have fun tonight.” He called out as he locked himself in his room to study.

“Thanks.” Grantaire said, smiling slightly and trying not to think about his own unfinished final project. 

“Hey,” Jehan said taking his hand, it was shaking slightly, he hadn’t even noticed. “You’re going to be fine. You’ll hang out, just like you used to.”

“He was in the hospital then.” Grantaire said, shrugging on his coat. “It’s not like he could’ve gone anywhere to get away from me.”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t have invited you over if he didn’t want to see you.” Jehan gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re going to be late, go.”

Grantaire nodded but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “But what if-”

Jehan rolled his eyes and opened the door for him, pushing him outside, “Go, call me if you need anything.” Then slammed the door shut and Grantaire had no choice but to leave. He can’t remember ever feeling that nervous before, he didn’t care what anyone said, it was different. But Not a Date. It was definitely Not. A. Date. He sighed, pulling on his gloves, and made his way out of the building.

Jehan was leaning against the door as he composed a text.

**To Enjolras:**

**You hurt him and I hurt you :)))**

~*~*~*~

“It’s not a date, Combeferre.” Said Enjolras, blushing (he seemed to be doing that a lot recently).

Combeferre was trying to keep his smirk at bay, “Oh, I’m sure it’s not. In any case, I’ll be in my room studying for the rest of the night so,” A hesitant knock on the door interrupted him.

Enjolras paused his half hearted glare to answer the door. He felt a smile break across his face when he saw Grantaire standing there, hands shoved in his coat pockets and cheeks flushed from the cold. “Hey.”

Grantaire nearly didn’t remember how to speak, because Enjolras looked fucking good, no one had the right to look good in a plain sweatshirt but _of course_ _he would_. “Hi.” Did he really sound that breathless, god he hoped he didn’t sound that breathless. 

Combeferre interrupted their staring contest when he said, “Well, I’m off to study, have fun on your date, you two.”

Then he turned away as both Enjolras and Grantaire spluttered, “It’s not a date!”

After Combeferre’s door had closed Enjolras and Grantaire stood in the doorway for a minute, looking at the floor mostly but occasionally stealing furtive glances at each other. Enjolras cleared his through at said, “Do you want anything to drink? Or eat, maybe?”

Grantaire needed a drink desperately, but he knew Enjolras would disapprove of it. “Water,” Grantaire nodded, “water would be great.”

Enjolras nodded and smiled, stepping aside from the entrance, “Come in, then.”

Grantaire stepped inside and followed Enjolras to the kitchen. “So how’s Combeferre?” He asked, for the sake of making small talk.

“He’s fine.” Enjolras said as he poured water into two glasses. “Pretty stressed, what with finals and all.” He turned around and handed a glass to Grantaire, who was trying to hide the way his hands were shaking; it was stupid really, especially considering he _had_ been alone with Enjolras before, it wasn’t anything new.

“Yeah, it’s the same over at our place.” Grantaire took a sip. _Deep breaths, drink more water, try not to focus too much on him and his angelic face and his amazing voice and no no stop._

Enjolras leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest, “How’re Jehan and Feuilly?”

Grantaire placed his drained glass in the sink, “They’re pretty good, Feuilly’s nearly working himself to death like always, and Jehan has about a thousand writing assignments due, but fine.”

Enjolras cocked his head to the side, pursing his lips slightly before asking, “What about you?”

Grantaire shrugged, “What about me?” He still had his coat on, and he was starting to sweat in the heat of the apartment. 

“Haven’t you got any end-of-the-year work to hand in?” Enjolras pushed off from the counter, gesturing for him to follow him into the living room. 

“I’ve done most of it by now.” Grantaire said, he had needed a distraction, after all, and found that in his schoolwork. “Only one final project to finish.”

Enjolras paused by the door briefly only to smile at him, “That’s good.” He then picked up his coat and keys. “We should get going, we’ll get the best view up on the roof.”

Grantaire had nearly forgotten why he was there. He nodded quickly and muttered, “Right, right.” Then he followed Enjolras out the door and into the elevator.

 _Ding_. And they were at the top floor. Enjolras stepped out of the elevator and pulled on his coat. “We’ll need to go up the fire escape to get to the roof.” He said, gesturing at the window that was across from them, before trying to open it. 

“Here, let me.” Grantaire said after Enjolras struggled with it for a few seconds. Together, they managed to unlatch and open it. “Fuck, it’s cold.” A draft had breezed in through the window, causing Grantaire to put his gloves back on. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Enjolras climbed outside first, then turned back around and offered Grantaire his hand.

“Not much you could do.” Grantaire huffed, but took the proffered hand anyway, ignoring the way his heart leaped when gloved fingers wrapped around his own. 

Together they made their way to the roof, where it just so happened that they found a pile of blankets and at least twenty lit candles. A blush broke out on Enjolras’s face, and it had nothing to do with the cold. He turned to Grantaire and started stammering, “I didn’t- this wasn’t- I’m-” Enjolras made himself a promise to strangle Courfeyrac the next time he saw him. 

“Courfeyrac?” Grantaire asked with a knowing smile. He would have to thank him later, Enjolras flustered was probably the cutest thing he had ever seen.

Enjolras could only bring himself to nod and Grantaire let out a warm laugh, “At least we won’t freeze to death. Come on.” He took Enjolras’s hand in his own again and sat them down on a blanket. He divided the blankets between them, putting one over his legs and another over his shoulders. “Can I tell you a secret?” Grantaire asked, after a few beats of awkward silence.

Enjolras frowned curiously, “Sure.”

Grantaire smiled slightly and shrugged, “I’ve never actually seen a meteor shower before.”

Enjolras let out a startled laugh, “Really?”

Grantaire nodded, “Yeah, really.”

“I’ve seen a couple.” Enjolras shrugged, “‘Ferre has always been interested in astrology and all that, so we’ve watched a couple together.”

Grantaire leaned back so he was lying on his back, “How long have you and Combeferre been friends?”

Enjolras mimicked his position and turned his head so he could look at him. “Since we were fifteen.”

“That’s a long time.” Grantaire said, positioning his hands behind his head.

Enjolras nodded, “Seven years. I knew him before he was hot.”

That startled a laugh out of Grantaire, “He does have that sexy med student thing going for him, doesn’t he?”

“Since he was sixteen, pretty much.” Enjolras shook his head, “He got asked out to prom by seventeen different people, I think it was.”

“Who did he end up going with then?” Grantaire turned to his side so he was facing Enjolras.

“I don’t think he went at all. Though, that year, he almost went with some senior guy, I didn’t particularly like him.” He turned his head and saw Grantaire’s smirk, “Oh shut it, I only want the best for him.” Grantaire smirk broadened into a smile. “Anyway, he went with a girl from our grade when we were juniors, and we went together for our senior prom.”

“That’s a disgustingly sweet story.” Grantaire said and Enjolras elbowed him. “Seriously, you two act like a married couple more than anything else.”

Enjolras frowned, but he was trying not to laugh, “We do not!”

Grantaire nodded, “Oh yeah you do, just ask anyone.”

“Whatever.” Enjolras was shaking his head but a smile was pulling at the corner of his lips; then a thought struck him. He wasn’t sure why he had never thought of it before, he had just sort of assumed- but he could be wrong. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” Grantaire said, a relaxed smile on his face; Enjolras hadn’t seen that look in a while.

Enjolras made himself ask before he lost his nerve, “Are you gay?”

Grantaire let out a small laugh at Enjolras’s nervous expression, “No, I’m not.” Enjolras’s heart managed to crawl its way into his throat in the split second it took Grantaire to add, “I’m pansexual.”

Enjolras tried not to let is sigh of relief show as he smiled, “I was just,” He shrugged, “Wondering, I guess.”

“So you’re gay then?” Grantaire asked, once again turning to lie on his back.

“What gave it away?” Enjolras asked, feigning innocence. 

“Hmm, just a feeling.” Grantaire shrugged, the small smile still perched on his lips. Enjolras had always been open about his sexuality and tended to go on raging rants about heternormativity and how it was harmful in modern day society (and any society); it was one of the few topics where Grantaire agreed with him.

“So how did you meet Feuilly then?” Enjolras asked, hitching his blanket up higher.

“Freshman year.” Grantaire replied, smiling at the memory, “We were both lost, and it turned out we had the same class, so we tried to find our way together.” He let out a small chuckle, “We ended up missing the class, but we’ve been friends ever since.”

“And Jehan?” Enjolras quickly regretted his words when Grantaire’s expression became subdued. A few seconds of silence passed between them. “R?” Enjolras asked hesitantly.

Grantaire shook his head and turned his head back to the sky, “That’s a story for another day.”

Neither of them said anything more, and the awkward tension was back between them. Enjolras wished he hadn’t spoken in the first place; he hadn’t had a conversation like this with Grantaire since he was in the hospital. And, frankly, he missed it. Now he had just made everything worse, somehow. 

Another five minutes passed before any of them said anything. Suddenly Enjolras heard Grantaire gasp softly, then he turned his head to face Enjolras, his smile was back, and asked, “Did you see that?” 

Enjolras had to stop himself from staring, he cleared his throat and said, “No, no; I missed it, I guess.”

“It was amazing.” Grantaire turned to face the sky again, eager to see another. “I mean, I’ve seen shooting stars and all in movies but never in real life.”

“Did you make a wish?” Enjolras asked. He didn’t believe in any of that stuff, he was the if you want something, you have to make it happen type of person, but he could see the hope of wishing on a star (or meteorite if you wanted to be technical about it).

Grantaire turned his crooked grin to him, “Was I supposed to?”

And then Enjolras was leaning closer, not really sure of what he was doing, until they were so close that they could feel each others breaths on their lips. Enjolras reached forward and traced Grantaire’s jawline with his hand, finally settling it on his cheek. 

Grantaire could barely breathe, he felt as if his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest. Enjolras’s bare hand was cold on his cheek, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure he wasn’t dreaming in that moment.

“Can I?” Enjolras asked, sounding way more hesitant than he had any right to be at that moment, if you asked Grantaire.

Grantaire had never heard Enjolras sound so uncertain before, and he wasn’t really sure how to take it. So he placed a hand above the one on his cheek and closed the space between them. He didn’t dare do more than a simple press of lips, but Enjolras leaned into it nonetheless. 

Not five seconds had passed before Grantaire was pulling away from a confused, if slightly dazed, Enjolras. Grantaire could barely breathe, he couldn’t really wrap his head around what happened. All he knew was that his heart was beating too fast, his head was rushing, and his breath was coming up short.

“I can’t do this.” Grantaire mumbled, before standing up and running down the fire escape.

Enjolras stared after him, paralyzed, trying to make sense of what had just happened and wondering what had gone wrong. But all he knew was that his heart had lodged itself somewhere in his stomach and his chest was much too tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that Enjolras took a semester off because he couldn’t attend class while at the hospital
> 
>  
> 
> ~~god i feel like Enjolras was so so so OOC in this chapter but then again pining!jolras is always a bit OOC so idk????~~
> 
>  
> 
> And yeah I’ll just leave this here
> 
> Also I’m not 100% happy with this chapter but I still sort of like it so please please leave me feedback? Just let me know what you guys think, it makes my day :)


	22. You Dismantle Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's aftermath and christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN LIKE 3 MONTHS  
> I'll give excuses in the end notes but here enjoy
> 
> Title from: Dismantle. Repair. by Anberlin (which is such a Grantaire song just go listen to it)
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

Grantaire crashed through his front door more than anything else. It must’ve been around three in the morning, and he was drunker than he had gotten in ages. 

“R?” Jehan called out in a raspy voice, raising his head slightly. 

Grantaire just waved him away and took a swig from the bottle of vodka in his hand as he stumbled towards his room, crashing into the wall more than once, but managing to get himself to bed nonetheless.

He fell asleep to the memory of surprised blue eyes and cold hands.

~*~*~*~

An insistent knocking woke Enjolras the next morning. He tried to ignore it for a solid five minutes before he threw his pillow across the room and yelled, “‘Ferre! Can you get the door?”

After another minute of nothing but knocking, Enjolras resigned himself to the fact that he would have to answer himself. He extricated himself from his very warm and very comfortable bed and padded toward the door. By the time he was in front of it and turning the doorknob, he was incredibly irritable and understandably annoyed. “What do you want?” He grumbled as he pulled open the door, rubbing at the growing headache at his temple.

Jehan was standing on the other side, hands on his hips, and looking like he was ready for a tirade. It took one look at Enjolras’s face for him to drop that posture and sigh. “You too then?” He pushed past Enjolras and closed the door behind him. “I’ll make you coffee and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

Enjolras nodded before sitting on the kitchen counter to sulk. Jehan only spoke once to ask where the mugs were, before walking toward Enjolras and handing him one of them. He took a sip from his own before asking, “So what happened?”

Enjolras couldn’t help the slightly bitter laugh that escaped him, “That’s a really good question.” Enjolras drank before continuing. “It was all going well, or I thought it was anyway. We were talking, like we used to do, and then he saw a meteor and his face just lit up and he looked so happy, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him like that, and then I asked if I could kiss him, and he kissed me, and then he ran away.”

Jehan’s expression remained neutral as he nodded, “So you kissed.” I wasn’t a question, more of a prompt.

“Sort of?” Enjolras fiddled with the end of his sweatshirt, he had never been good at this sort of thing. “It was more of a peck really.”

Jehan ran his hand through his long hair, which he wore loose for once, before sighing. “I’m not sure how much what I’m about to tell you will help, but hopefully it’ll help you understand.” Enjolras frowned slightly but nodded and Jehan continued, “R has not had an easy life, I don’t even know everything he’s been through, I haven’t known him much longer than you have, you know. But I can tell you that he has a lot of trouble believing that people could ever actually care for him and about what happens to him.” Jehan held up a had before Enjolras could respond, “And I know, he has all of us to talk to and stand by his side, but he usually thinks he’s being no more than a burden. What I’m getting at is, that kiss probably overwhelmed Grantaire, or maybe he thought it wasn’t what you wanted, or something of that sort. There are plenty of reasons why he could’ve run away, and it wasn’t your fault.”

Enjolras nodded, “Alright, I understand that but-”

“But nothing, Enjolras.” Jehan shook his head, finishing off his coffee. “Look, Grantaire needs space right now, room to think and sort out what he’s feeling. You can’t be going after him.”

Enjolras sighed and ran a hand down his face, feeling it was too early in the morning for this sort of conversation. “What if I just ruined everything?”

Jehan surprised him by pulling him into a hug, which he returned after a few seconds. They were about the same height, Enjolras realized. “Just give him time and space, and see where things go from there.” The advice didn’t exactly make Enjolras feel any better, but Jehan wasn’t going to lie to him. At that point, all Enjolras wanted was to go back to sleep. 

As Jehan started walking away he said, “Combeferre is taking a final today, by the way.” At Enjolras’s confused look, Jehan added, “That’s why he’s not here.” Jehan pulled his gloves back on and gave him a smile, “See you later, Enj.”

“Bye.” Enjolras called after him, only going to lock the door before heading straight back to bed and right back to sleep. 

~*~*~*~

Two weeks had gone and passed, and Enjolras hadn’t seen Grantaire since that night. Everyone was done with finals by then and it was painfully obvious that Grantaire was avoiding him; he knew this because he had been reassured by absolutely everyone that Grantaire was okay, but never by the man himself. Enjolras threw himself into his activism, since he had to catch up from when he was in the hospital and school wasn’t occupying his time; he had three rallies planned and rapidly gaining support after a week of working. 

“Enough of that!” Courfeyrac exclaimed as he charged into Enjolras’s room. “You’ve barely seen daylight in a week, and when was the last time you slept?” Enjolras shrugged and continued typing away on his laptop. “No, you know what?” Courfeyrac stepped up to his desk and closed the laptop, “You’re going out tonight.”

Enjolras glared at Courfeyrac and didn’t try to contain his annoyance, “Oh really now? Tell me, where exactly am I going?”

Courfeyrac gave him his 1000-watt smile, “Well, since you asked, Marius and I are having a party tonight, and I want you to be there.”

Enjolras sighed, knowing it was no use fighting with Courfeyrac about this. “Fine,” Courfeyrac’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, not believing it could be that easy. “What time?”

The smile was back as Courfeyrac turned toward Enjolras’s closet and said, “Right now.” 

~*~*~*~

**Jehan: HELP ME**

**Feuilly: did R set something on fire again?**

**Jehan: No, but you’re telling me this story later.**

**Jehan: Anyway**

**Jehan: I kind of maybe really want to grab Courf’s face and kiss it right now.**

**Jeahn: Is that weird, do you ever feel like kissing Courf’s face?**

**Feuilly: cant say that i do and my boss is glaring at me so I have to go**

**Feuilly: have fun figuring that out**

**Jehan: You’re no help.**

Jehan sighed as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and leaned back against the wall. No, he most definitely was not staring at Courfeyrac dancing with Cosette, and no he most definitely did not notice the way his jeans made his ass look _positively sinful and god the things Jehan would do to_ – no, not thinking that way at all. 

“Close your mouth before you start drooling.” Éponine had walked up beside him at some point.

“You can’t blame me, _look_ at him.” Jehan sighed in what Éponine would call an overdramatic way if it had been anyone but the poet. “He’s beautiful.”

Éponine downed half her beer, “He’s all right.” 

Jehan shook his head and finished his own beer. “At least I know I don’t have competition on your part.”

“He’s not really my type.” She shrugged.

“You mean he’s not scrawny, ginger, and freckly?” Jehan didn’t even bother to duck out of the way when she punched his arm, albeit halfheartedly.

“Fuck you, Prouvaire.” There was no menace in her voice however, maybe even a little bit of fondness. She shot him a sidelong glance, “You should ask him to dance.”

Jehan pushed himself off the wall, “You know what,” He handed his empty bottle to her, “I think I will.” And just like that Jehan Prouvaire scored a dance with Courfeyrac. 

Éponine shook her head at the pair of them, what with the ridiculous amount of pining going on within the group at least _some_ of it was being sorted out.

Enjolras was sitting by himself on the couch while everyone around him danced and mingled, not really feeling up for it. He felt the sofa sink beside him and looked up to see Bahorel staring at him, “Are you really going to sit here and sulk all night?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

Enjolras didn’t bother to answer, he simply crossed his arms and raised his own eyebrow as if to say _Don’t think I won’t_.

“Come on, man.” Bahorel handed him a bottle of beer, “I’m not letting you do that. Grantaire is fine, all right? He just needs some space and you shouldn’t let that keep you from having fun.”

Enjolras took the beer bottle but didn’t open it. “And by fun you mean get drunk?”

Bahorel’s grin was definitely sinister, “Of course.” 

Which is how an hour later Enjolras was desperately clinging to Courfeyrac and telling him how much he loved and appreciated him and how he had very nice hair; everyone knew Enjolras was a lightweight, but no one had expected three beers to get him _that_ drunk. 

“He’s a very affectionate drunk.” Courfeyrac said when he tried to pry Enjolras away from him, which only made him cling harder. “Come on, Enj, there’s a cute poet I really want to dance with.”

“Why don’t you just tell Jehan you like him already?” Enjolras yelled in his ear.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Courfeyrac shushed him. 

“He probably likes you too, you know.” Enjolras stage whispered and booped Courfeyrac’s nose, “Everyone likes you.”

Courfeyrac had to keep himself from laughing because drunk Enjolras was so damn cute. “Thank you, Enjolras, but I think it’s time you go to bed.”

“But I’m not tired.” He grumbled as Courfeyrac hoisted him up and dragged him off to his own bedroom; it had been settled that Combeferre was in no state to drive either and no one wanted to leave just yet, so Enjolras and Combeferre were staying with Courfeyrac and Marius that night.

When Courfeyrac emerged from his room he pointed at Joly, who had been giggling over the whole situation for the past fifteen minutes, and said, “You’re taking the cuddles next time.”

~*~*~*~

Grantaire never thought about his sister; he didn’t _like_ to think about his sister. She was 11 years his elder, and she always loved him the most. That was, until she had left. 

It had happened about two months after his father left, she had come into his room and climbed into bed with him. He wasn’t asleep yet, despite it being around 2 am, he always had trouble sleeping. “Hey little R.” She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair. “I wanted to tell you, I’m leaving this place in the morning, and I want you to come with me. What do you say to that?”

That had Grantaire sitting up, not really understanding what she meant at 5 years old. “Is mom coming with us?”

His sister ran her fingers through his messy curls again, “No, sweetie, she’s not.”

He had frowned at that, “So are we coming back later?”

She took his hands into her own and passed her thumb over the back of them. “We’re leaving for good, R.”

His eyes widened with realization and he shook his head vigorously, his eyes filling with tears. “We can’t leave mom, we can’t, we can’t, we can’t, we can’t.” He was openly sobbing now and his sister took him into her arms again and tried to calm him down.

“Shh, shh, shh, you don’t have to leave, sweetie, it’s okay, it’s okay.” She rocked him back and forth, her own eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Will you stay?” Grantaire asked in a small voice, hugging her close.

She never answered though, only kissed his forehead and stayed with him that night. 

By the time he woke up she was gone, and he hadn’t seen her since.

~*~*~*~

Christmas sort of snuck up on Enjolras, and before he knew it Courfeyrac had roped him into holding a christmas “gathering” in his and Combeferre’s apartment. Courfeyrac had insisted it wasn’t a party, but a simple gathering, but Enjolras wasn’t sure he believed him.

However, Courfeyrac did take care of all of the decorating and made sure everyone was bringing something to eat/drink, so Enjolras decided to go for a walk and left Courfeyrac trying to cover every surface with tinsel. Enjolras later decided this had been a mistake when he walked back into his apartment to find mistletoe hanging from everywhere, and Enjolras really did mean _everywhere_. 

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras sighed, “How does hanging mistletoe from the coat rack make any sense?”

“I have my reasons, Enj.” Courfeyrac called back, clad in what was probably the ugliest sweater he could find, something he insisted on doing whenever he stayed in the States for the holidays because ‘If I’m celebrating an American christmas, then I will look as American as possible’. 

Before Enjolras could come of up with a response, Courfeyrac ran over to where Enjolras was standing next to said coat rack and pulled him into a kiss, it didn’t last more than five seconds and Enjolras was too shocked to pull away. Courfeyrac turned back to what he was doing as if nothing had happened and left Enjolras sputtering, “What was that?”

Courfeyrac grinned at him, “Enjoyed that, didn’t you?” At Enjolras’s raised eyebrow, Courfeyrac’s grin widened. “I’ve made it my goal to kiss everyone - except people in established relationships - tonight.” He turned back to decorating the mini christmas tree Combeferre always put on a corner of the apartment. “One down, a couple of more to go.”

“Does that include Jehan?” Enjolras asked with a smirk while pulling off his gloves. 

“Depends,” Courfeyrac pulled the same smirk on him now, “Are you going to talk to Grantaire?”

Enjolras sighed and dropped down on the couch, “What even makes you think he’s coming?” He shrugged, “He’s avoided me this long, I don’t see why he would stop now.”

Courfeyrac shook his head at him, “It’s christmas eve, of course he’s coming.”

Enjolras shrugged, not actually believing it, “If you say so, Courf.”

~*~*~*~

Courfeyrac was completely serious about kissing everyone that night, and his mission officially started at around 8 p.m., when most of his friends were already at Combeferre and Enjolras’s apartment. Combeferre himself was leaning against the wall talking to Cosette, and Courfeyrac, being as he is, saw this as the perfect opportunity to spur his plan into action.

He crossed the room to stand in front of Combeferre before leaning forward and planting a solid kiss on his lips, what he was not expecting was Combeferre to take hold of his hips, turn them around, and push him against the wall, working his tongue into Courfeyrac’s mouth (not that it wasn’t enjoyable, simply surprising). Combeferre pulled away and smirked at Courfeyrac, most of their friends staring slack jawed and Cosette trying to stifle her giggles at Courfeyrac’s shocked and dazed face. “Enjolras asked me to do that.” Combeferre said before ruffling Courfeyrac’s hair and continuing his conversation with Cosette as if nothing had happened. 

And so it went until it was about 9:30 and Courfeyrac had kissed every single person in the room, except for Jehan that was. Eventually he tired of the christmas carols that had been playing for most of the night and took over the music himself, which meant he was determined to bring Puerto Rico to the party.

As the beginning of a salsa song made its way out of the speakers, Courfeyrac walked over to Musichetta and held out his hand, “¿Baila conmigo, señorita?” 

She shook her head, but she was smiling, “I don’t speak spanish, Courf.”

“I know, but I’m trying to be a perfect gentleman, help me out here.” Musichetta smiled at his response and took his hand, letting Courfeyrac lead her into a dance. 

They were good dancers, anyone could see that, as well as the love they held for it. Courfeyrac’s hand rested on Musichetta’s waist as the other held hers in a loose grip. He turned her a few times before letting her hand go completely as she danced on her own for a while before going back to him. 

No one noticed Jehan standing in the corner, brooding. He had been waiting for Courfeyrac to kiss him, as everyone else in the room had already been kissed; he really wanted nothing more than for Courfeyrac to kiss him right then (and maybe do some other things as well, seriously, the way he moved his hips was absolutely _sinful_ ). Eventually, Jehan tired of his sulking and decided to actually do something about it.

He walked over to the dancing couple and tapped Musichetta on the shoulder. She gave him a knowing glance and a wink before relinquishing Courfeyrac and sauntering back to try and convince Joly to dance with her. Courfeyrac smiled shyly at him and offered him his hand. Jehan could feel everyone looking at him, but trying to hide it (his friends were terrible at being discreet). Jehan took it, but instead of dancing, he dragged Courfeyrac to the nearest doorway (which had mistletoe hanging from it, of course).

“Jehan, what are you-” But Courfeyrac was cut off when Jehan placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. When Courfeyrac finally realized what was happening, he couldn’t help the pleased sound at the back of his throat as pulled Jehan closer, molding their bodies together. Somewhere, seemingly far away, he could hear his friends’ catcalls and whistles but he simply could not care when Jehan was opening his mouth and deepening the kiss. 

When they pulled away, both slightly out of breath, Jehan leaned his forehead against Courfeyrac’s and said, “You hadn’t kissed me yet.” Then bit his lip and smiled, and it was so endearing that Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smile back.

“Do you want to go out with me?” Courfeyrac asked then, taking Jehan’s hand and interlacing their fingers.

Jehan pulled away, making Courfeyrac’s heart nearly stop, just to say, “Of course I do, you idiot, I thought you’d never ask.” Then proceeded to kiss Courfeyrac again, with much more enthusiasm than the first time. 

“Get a room, you two!” Bossuet called at them good-naturedly.

The couple pulled away from each other, Jehan’s cheeks were slightly red but they were both smiling as big as they could, still holding hands.

~*~*~*~

“It’s past midnight.” Joly said, leaning back on the couch, “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“You don’t know that,” Bossuet said cheerfully, “Ép said she would get him here, no matter what.”

Enjolras could overhear the entire conversation, and up until that point he had been trying to focus on anything but Grantaire’s absence, but there was no way of keeping the topic off the front of his mind now. He wondered if Grantaire was all right, he remembered how he had looked when Bahorel practically had to drag him back into the Musain after he tried to go after Éponine’s stalker, he sincerely hoped that that wasn’t happening right now and he didn’t know it. Enjolras wasn’t even sure what he would do, but his heart was pounding hard just at the thought that Grantaire could be going through something like that at that very moment and he would be doing it all alone.

And then Grantaire walked into the room.

~*~*~*~

Everyone had greeted him good-naturedly, despite it being past midnight. Grantaire was already more than a little drunk, but he took care not to show it; he also made sure not to look at Enjolras, but the blond was always on his periphery and he couldn’t help but become a bit distracted by him.

He ignored Enjolras for about half an hour before he said he needed some air and headed outside, not completely sure he was coming back.

Grantaire can’t say he was completely surprised when Enjolras came after him, he was the type of person who couldn’t leave well enough alone. He sat down on the first step of the staircase, leaning his head on the railing. “What do you want?” Grantaire asked, not intending to sound as cold as he had.

“What do you think, R?” Enjolras sat next to him, but Grantaire didn’t even turn to face him.

Grantaire could feel his heart start to beat faster, anxiety clawing at his throat. “If you won’t tell me, then just go back inside.”

Enjolras sighed and ran his hand through his hair, “Why did you run away?”

“Didn’t think you would care.” Grantiare said and shrugged one shoulder, he wished he had thought to bring a drink with him.

“Wouldn’t care?” Enjolras was starting to get worked up, which only caused Grantaire to stiffen further. “Why the hell would you think that?”

Grantaire lets out a painfully bitter laugh, “I was doing you a favor, Enjolras.” He needed to do something with his hands, he couldn’t stay still, his nerves were on edge. He started to compulsively pull off and put on his gloves, just to have his hands occupied.

“Would you please give me a straight answer for once, Grantaire?” Enjolras was as stiff as Grantaire was now, but Grantaire still wouldn’t look at him. “Look, I would really appreciate it if you would at least face me when I’m speaking to you.” And there was the hard tone he used when he was getting fed up with something, fed up with Grantaire.

Grantaire shook his head, biting his tongue hard enough that he started to taste blood. “God damn it, Grantaire!” Enjolras nearly yelled.

Grantaire finally snapped, “You don’t know me, Enjolras!” He was facing Enjolras, but Grantaire’s expression was impossible to discern. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here right now, you would probably have asked out another person better suited for you, and you would want nothing to do with me. As it is, I can’t understand why you’re still sitting here, give it up, will you!”

“Of course I know you-” Enjolras started before he was interrupted by Grantaire’s cold laughter. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, please tell me all about myself. Tell me how fucked up I am, tell me everything that’s wrong with me; wait, you don’t actually know shit, do you? If you did you’d probably end up making me one of your precious causes, how great would that be for you, huh? I don’t need a fucking savior, Enjolras, and I sure as hell don’t need you.” Grantaire just wanted Enjolras to leave him, before he said something truly stupid, but that didn’t seem to be happening yet.

“You’re not making any sense, Grantaire, I only asked you a simple question-” And Grantaire cut him off again.

“Shut up. Just shut up. Look, I’m sorry for kissing you and making you uncomfortable but please just, just leave me alone.” Grantiare could feel his throat tightening and he felt as if he had said too much, admitted too much about himself. He wasn’t good for Enjolras, he would end up pulling him down to his level, distracting him from his causes, they rarely ever even got along. Why would Enjolras even want to keep talking to him? He was doing this for Enjolras, he was better off without Grantaire there; pushing him away was the better option. Or that’s what Grantaire told himself anyway.

And then Enjolras did leave and Grantaire felt his walls crumble around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok now for excuses  
> I quite literally had no time to write and the worst writer's block ever so I've been slowly writing this chapter for the past few months  
> But now It's spring break so between all my assignments I should have time to write at least one more chapter apart from this one.
> 
> Also I really have no idea what I did to this chapter, it just got away from me, so I'll probably go back and edit it later but for now, it's staying like this.
> 
> So yeah, please leave me feedback and I will try my absolute best to never take so long to update again :)


	23. All in One Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The week leading up to New Years was a memorable one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPDATE (AGAIN), I’VE JUST BEEN RIDICULOUSLY BUSY THESE LAST FEW MONTHS

_I sure as hell don’t need you. Just leave me alone.  
_ _Don’t need you.  
_ _Leave me alone.  
_ _Don’t need you. Leave me alone. Don’t need you. Leave me alone._

Enjolras rolled over in his bed, groaning at the massive headache that was already pounding at his temples. After his argument with Grantaire he had stormed back inside, his hurt evolving into anger. He made it his goal to get as drunk as possible, if only so he could stop the words constantly repeating in his head.  _I sure as hell don’t need you_.

Enjolras shook his head and cursed himself for not closing the curtains before collapsing into bed the previous night. Then an incessant knocking began on his door; his bedroom door. “Rise and shine, Enj! It’s Christmas Day!” yelled Courfeyrac’s voice. Enjolras nearly cried, it felt like his brain was imploding. Since he didn’t respond to that, Courfeyrac decided to let himself into Enjolras’s room. Enjolras just barely refrained from killing him, and only because he saw the advil and glass of water in Courfeyrac’s hands.

Courfeyrac wordlessly handed over the medicine and Enjolras took it gratefully. He drained the glass of water in one go and then dragged a hand over his hair. “Starting Christmas Day with a hangover, my, my Enjolras, I’m appalled.” Courfeyrac said with a smirk.

“Shut up, not like you’ve never done it.” Enjolras croaked, attempting to untangle himself from his sheets. 

Courfeyrac scratched his chin thoughtfully, “No, I don’t think I have, actually.”

Enjolras had finally managed to sit up but the moment he stood up the nausea hit him and he bolted to the bathroom. 

Combeferre was behind the stove, making pancakes for them. “So I’m guessing you got him to wake up.” His words were punctuated by the sound of Enjolras gagging in the bathroom. “Maybe we should’ve stopped him after the vodka.”

“I think he was too far gone by the time he started the shots.” Courfeyrac said. He hopped up on the counter just as they heard the toilet flush. A few seconds later, a disgruntled Enjolras walked into the room. 

“Why did you let me do that?” He demanded of Combeferre, looking more like an angry kitten than anything else.

Combeferre, completely unconcerned, flipped a pancake and said, “You’re an adult, Enjolras, you can make your own decisions.”

Enjolras’s face fell suddenly and he slumped against the counter. “Hey,” Courfeyrac said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You okay?”

Enjolras shrugged but after a few seconds of silence he sighed, “He said he sure as hell didn’t need me and to just leave him alone.”

Combeferre’s spatula clanged against the stove and he hissed, having burned his finger. Courfeyrac looked at him questioningly but Combeferre waved away his concern. Courfeyrac sighed and turned back to Enjolras, “You know he probably didn’t mean it, right?”

Enjolras wouldn’t look him in the eye, “Yeah, well, it sure sounded like he did.”

“Enjolras.” Courfeyrac tried to meet his eyes, “Enjolras.” Still nothing. “Enjolras, look at me.” Courfeyrac grabbed his chin and brought his face up so he would look Courfeyrac in the eyes. “He didn’t mean it. He was scared, probably more than a bit confused, and definitely drunk.”

Enjolras didn’t say anything as Courfeyrac released him. He didn’t say anything until after they had all finished their pancakes. “I’m sorry for being like this, it’s Christmas, after all.” Then he disappeared into his room, coming back with two gift-wrapped boxes. 

“For you”, Enjolras said, handing one to Combeferre, “And for you.” He handed Courfeyrac his own. Courfeyrac’s smile was wide as he ripped apart the paper, Combeferre’s was amused as he watched him, slowly taking apart his own gift. 

Courfeyrac gasped dramatically, “YOU GOT ME A COPY OF PACIFIC RIM?” Then he practically leaped into Enjolras’s lap and hugged him tight, “You’re the absolute best, you know that?”

Enjolras laughed wholeheartedly, his previous heartache nearly forgotten, “You kept saying how you really wanted to watch it again so,” He shrugged, “Yeah.”

Combeferre watched the exchange fondly and then finished unwrapping his own gift, finding a collection of Jane Austen’s novels (hardcover) and found himself smiling hugely at Enjolras before moving to help Courfeyrac make an Enjolras sandwich. 

“I got you guys gifts too, by the way, but I might’ve forgotten them in my apartment.” Courfeyrac smiled guiltily. Combeferre ruffled his hair and waved away his apology.

“And both of you are getting your gifts later, when we get together with the rest of the group.” Combeferre said simply, but he had a wicked smirk on his face. 

Enjolras laughed softly and settled into his friends’ embrace, “I’m really glad you guys are my best friends, you know that?”

Courfeyrac looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging, planting a kiss on Enjolras’s cheek, and saying, “We know.”

~*~*~*~

Bahorel stood outside Feully’s door, feeling nervous and jittery, before finally knocking. Feuilly answered quickly, still in his pajamas. “Hey, merry Christmas.” He said when he opened the door.

“Merry Christmas, dude.” Bahorel responded and gave Feuilly a hug. They had quickly become the best of friends when Feuilly started going to meetings, so he was definitely the first person Bahorel wanted to tell. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, come on in.” Feuilly held the door open and closed it after Bahorel had passed. “So what’s up?”

“Um...” Bahorel didn’t really know how to start. “What I mean is...I’m trying to say...” Sigh. “Okay, I’m not a guy.”

“Okay?” Feuilly said, raising a questioning brow, “Where are you going with this?”

Bahorel sat down on the couch and Feuilly did the same, “Recently, I’ve figured out, that I don’t really consider myself a male, like, as my gender.” Feuilly nodded and waited until Bahorel was ready to go on. “So, I was wondering, if you could use neutral pronouns for me, like They/Them/Their?”

Feuilly smiled at him, “Of course I will, is that what you were so nervous about?”

Bahorel shook their head, “Pssh, nervous, me? Hell no, where’d you get that idea?” But they had a grateful smile on their face as Feuilly pulled them into another hug. Neither of them was usually this affectionate but Feuilly felt the circumstances called for it.

“Thanks.” Bahorel said quietly and then stood up, “I’ll see you at the Musain later, right?”

“Yeah, see you later.” Feuilly said, staying on the couch while Bahorel showed themselves out. 

“Oh and,” Bahorel turned around, “Could you keep this to yourself for a bit, I don’t think I’m ready to tell everyone just yet.”

Feuilly nodded without hesitation, “Of course, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Bahorel gave him a small smile and ducked out the door.

~*~*~*~

Courfeyrac was tracing Jehan’s spine over his christmas sweater. They were sitting together on Courfeyrac’s couch, waiting for Marius to finish getting ready to go to the Musain. 

“So tell me,” Courfeyrac said, a small smirk on his face, “How long have you been into me?”

Jehan scoffed, “Please, you pined for me longer than I pined for you.”

“Liar!” Courfeyrac declared, pointing an accusatory finger at Jehan, “Who told you that?”

“Everybody.” Jehan deadpanned. 

Courfeyrac scoffed but didn’t deny it. If Jehan’s own smirk was anything to go by, he noticed as well. “You’re adorable” Jehan stated then climbed into his lap and straddled Courfeyrac before kissing him soundly.

Marius chose that very moment to walk back into the living room and promptly blushed. “Um, Courf?” He said tentatively. Courfeyrac just waved him away and pulled Jehan closer.

By the time they made it to the Musain they were over an hour late and ridiculously disheveled.

~*~*~*~

None of them usually exchanged gifts, unless it was something they all used or some small trinket that wasn’t overly expensive, and that was only if the person giving it could afford it. Instead, they went to the Musain on Christmas morning and spent time together. That tradition stuck that year, especially considering how their group had expanded. 

It wasn’t much really, they had a few drinks, they talked about their lives, and Grantaire didn’t show up at all.

“He’s probably at the children’s hospital.” Jehan told Enjolras when he had worked up the nerve to ask. “He volunteers there a lot.” Enjolras simply nodded and left it at that.

Later in the afternoon, Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras and Combeferre aside and handed them a box each. “You guys know I suck at gift-wrapping, but I tried.” Courfeyrac said, as was apparent by the uneven paper, but neither of them minded. Enjolras opened his first, pulling out a red t-shirt that said  _Liberté_  on it. He laughed and pulled Courfeyrac into a hug as Combeferre opened his to find a blue t-shirt with  _Égalité_  written on it and smiled hugely at Courfeyrac. “I have the yellow  _Fraternité_  one at my apartment.” Courfeyrac grinned shyly and shrugged. Enjolras and Combeferre glanced and nodded at each other before pulling Courfeyrac into a group hug.

“I love it, thank you.” Combeferre said and Enjolras nodded his agreement.

When they pulled back Combeferre cleared his throat before pulling two small boxes from his bag. “Now before I give you these,” He started, that wicked glint back in his eye, “I just want you both to remember that you love me and I am the voice of reason of our group.”

“Modest much?” Courfeyrac said, unable to help himself. 

Combeferre gave him a mock glare before handing over the packages, “Just remember that.”

Courfeyrac opened his first and burt out laughing. His gift was a box of condoms, a pack of earplugs, and a pair of incredibly ugly but fluffy socks. “I love you, ‘Ferre, you’re the best.”

Combeferre smirked, “The earplugs are for Marius, Grantaire, and Feuilly, by the way.”

Courfeyrac shook his head, his shoulders still shaking with laughter, “Yeah, I figured.”

Enjolras opened his own gift and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Combeferre as he pulled out a book titled:  _Dating for Dummies_. “Really, ‘Ferre, really?” Combeferre simply shrugged. Enjolras shook his head and cracked a smile, “I love the socks, though.”

“I knew you would.” Combeferre said, grinning, it was his usual Christmas gift to Enjolras and when they met Courfeyrac, Combeferre had done the same for him. 

Their Christmas wasn’t much, but it was theirs, with their traditions, and their jokes, and their friends, which is really all they needed.

~*~*~*~

Enjolras was home early.

He was meant to be out with Bahorel and Feuilly, trying to get a permit for their next rally.

Had he still been out doing that, he wouldn’t have had to experience this.

Because even though Combeferre and Enjolras had known each other for years and had been living together since their first year of college, they had never walked in on the other having sex.

Until now that was.

Enjolras had walked in frustrated, having not gained the permit for the protest on the premise that too many of theirs had turned into riots. Which Enjolras thought was complete bullshit on the government’s part, only about five of their rallies had turned into riots.

He hadn’t noticed all the clothes on the living room floor as he walked to his own room, but not before he stopped at Combeferre’s to have a very long rant as to why the government was wrong.

Enjolras opened the door without a second thought already calling Combeferre’s name, before he promptly shut it again, his face flushing an alarming shade of red. “Sorry, I-” Enjolras stopped himself, what was he even supposed to say? “I’ll come back later.” He could hear the couple fumbling inside and decided to make a run for it before either of them could come back out. 

He only dared go back home over an hour later and by then Combeferre was dressed and sitting on their couch, probably waiting for him. Enjolras sat next to Combeferre, his posture stiff while Combeferre was leaning back and flicking through the channels on the TV.

“Sorry about earlier.” Combeferre says finally.

“It’s all right.” Enjolras responds too quickly.

They’re both quiet for a while before Combeferre starts laughing. Enjolras glared at him for it at first but then he couldn’t help but join in.

“You’re the worst.” Enjolras said while holding his sides, after they had both calmed down.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t supposed to be back for another hour, at least.” Combeferre shrugged at him and went back to watching TV.

“But how did you even-” Enjolras stopped himself when Combeferre cocked an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, never mind.”

~*~*~*~

Éponine called Feuilly in a panic, “You have a car right?”

Feuilly held his phone between his cheek and shoulder while he flipped through their bills, “Yeah, why?”

“Gavroche is in the hospital.” She said frantically.

Feuilly dropped the bills and grabbed his keys before he even had time to think, “I’m on my way.”

By the time Feuilly made it to Éponine’s small apartment, she was near tears. “We need to go.” She said, pulling the passenger door open before Feuilly had fully stopped. Without a second thought, Feuilly pulled off the curb and sped all the way to the hospital.

Feuilly dropped off Éponine at the entrance of the emergency room before heading to the parking lot to see if he could find an empty spot. He finally managed to about fifteen minutes later and by the time he made it into the emergency room, Éponine was about to yell her head off. Feuilly stepped in, “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” 

“They won’t let me in to see him.” Éponine’s tone was deadly and he had to stop himself from taking a step backwards.

Feuilly dragged a hand through his hair, “Do you know why?”

Éponine nearly growled, “Because I’m not his legal guardian. They don’t seem to understand that my parents are pieces of shit who couldn’t give less of a damn about Gav being in the hospital.” That last part was directed towards the nurse standing behind the desk.

“All right, just breathe in and out with me for a second.” Éponine was about to protest but a stern look from Feuilly made her sigh and then follow his breathing, if somewhat reluctantly. “Okay, now,” Feuilly said after a minute, “Can you call up your parents and ask them to phone the hospital and give you permission to visit?”

Éponine frowned, and Feuilly understood it was because she tried to avoid any and all contact with her parents, but then she steeled herself and pulled out her phone, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And with another glare towards the nurse, she walked outside.

By the time Éponine got back, Feuilly was sitting in a chair in the waiting room, his foot tapping nervously. He stood up when he saw her, “Anything?”

She nodded, her mouth set harshly, “They said they would call now.” And as if on cue the nurse gestured towards Éponine to speak with her.

“Let me know if he’s okay.” Feuilly said as the nurse led Éponine away. 

Éponine walked into the hospital room to see Gavroche getting his arm into a cast. “What did you do?” She asked him as she walked over to hug him, careful not to move his arm. 

“My friend dared me to jump off the swing.” Gavroche said, shrugging.

Éponine frowned, “How do you even manage to break your arm by jumping off a swing?”

“I had to do a backflip before reaching the ground.” Gavroche said, as if it were the most common thing ever. 

Éponine’s mouth tightened, “Just don’t scare me like that again, all right?” She said and kissed the top of his head. She was just glad that he was safe. “I’m going to go tell Feuilly that you’re fine and I’ll be right back.” She made to walk back out but Gavroche grabbed her hand before she could leave.

Gavroche bit his lip, “Will you stay here?”

Éponine’s eyes softened and she gave her little brother a small smile, “Sure, Gav, I’ll just text Feuilly.”

Gavroche gave her a small smile, “Thanks.”

She ruffled his hair, “No problem, kiddo.”

~*~*~*~

Bossuet was late.

Bossuet was late and Musichetta was nervous to say the least. She had left work early that day to prepare dinner to surprise her two boys. She rarely ever cooked, Bossuet was the best out of the three of them, but she felt that it was called for. Joly was currently taking a shower, and she had no idea where Bossuet even was.

He walked in about ten minutes later, with a cut on his eyebrow that was bleeding sluggishly. Musichetta sighed, already used to these moments, and walked over to him, “What happened this time?”

Bossuet have her a chagrined smile, “I was accidentally ran into a lamp post.”

Musichetta shook her head but she was smiling slightly, “I’ll get the kit.” She said, just as Joly walked into the room.

“Again?” He sighed, but placed a kiss on Bossuet’s cheek anyhow. He cleaned up the cut while Musichetta went into the bathroom to retrieve their first-aid kit. She came back and handed it to Joly to seal up the cut. It was barely bleeding now, so Joly simply placed a butterfly bandage on top of it. “It’s not deep enough for stitches and I highly doubt it will scar.” 

“Thanks.” Bossuet told them both as he stood up to go change his clothes, but not before placing a kiss on both of their lips. “I love you.” He told them.

Musichetta smiled as Joly said, “We love you too, now get dressed, I’ve been waiting forever for ‘Chetta to tell us her news.”

“How do you know I have news?” Musichetta raised a keen eyebrow at him.

Joly shrugged with an easy smile, “You never cook unless you have something to tell us.”

At that moment Bossuet walked out of their bedroom and back into the living room, “So what’s the occasion?” He asked.

“I’ll tell you,” Musichetta started as she walked back into the kitchen to bring out their dinner, “After we eat.” 

“Now that’s just cruel.” Joly insisted, but his smile was still easy and carefree, as they sat down to eat.

Musichetta felt that with every minute that passed her heart was beating faster and faster, by the time they were done, her hands had started to sweat. She didn’t exactly know how to tell them this, it hadn’t really sunk in for her either just yet, but just the thought of them knowing made her nervous. It was ridiculous, she knew, they would love her no matter what, but that didn’t stop her foot from tapping or her hands from trembling.

“Are you okay?” Bossuet asked worriedly, setting down his fork.

Musichetta nodded, forcing herself to calm down, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Joly had a slight frown on his face, he looked like he wanted to check her temperature, “What’s going on, ‘Chetta?”

Musichetta stood up suddently, making the silverware clatter as she bumped her knee on the table, “Come sit on the couch with me.” She said, and hurried over there to sit in the middle. Joly sat on her right and Bossuet on her left. Joly took her trembling hand in his and pressed a kiss to it as Bossuet rubbed her back in comforting circles. 

“You know you can tell us anything, right?” Bossuet asked her, his eyebrows pulling down to frown worriedly.

Musichetta took a deep breath and smiled at both of them, her boys, “Yes, I know. I just want you both to know that I love you so much, and these past few years with you have been the best of my life and I would never trade them for anything in the world.”

“Okay, now you’re making me nervous.” Joly said, pressing closer to her side.

Musichetta laughed slightly and cupped his cheek before pressing a kiss to it and then a kiss to Bossuet’s. She took both of their hands before breathing deeply and saying, “I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I’m really sorry about the time between updates, but I already have the next one outlined (in my head, anyway), I just need to, you know, actually write it.
> 
> About Bahorel: I really wanted a genderqueer character in here, and I love genderqueer Bahorel so. I myself am cis so if I say anything gross and offensive or just generally fuck up badly please please tell me so I can fix it, I don’t want to be problematic. Anyway, I’ll be writing more about Bahorel later.
> 
> I was going to write another scene with R working with the kids at the hospital but I decided to save that for later
> 
> Combeferre would be the one to give out joke presents
> 
> I’m ALSO SO EXCITED TO WRITE BABY AND AMIS ANTICS LIKE OH MY GOD SO EXCITED
> 
> Please leave me feedback? Comments make my day :)


	24. The New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Years Eve Eve  
> and New Years Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to update!! Really I’ve just been ridiculously busy and uninspired lately but here have this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** I'm not a doctor, and this is fiction, so I make up most of this stuff. When going into the cancer stuff, I did some research (hours and hours and hours) and found out as much as I could understand to try to make it slightly accurate. But in the end, I've never had cancer or gone through chemo so I'm making up most of it or slightly basing it on first-hand accounts of it that I've read. I've also never been an inpatient so that's mostly made up too and slightly based on stuff I've read.
> 
> Another
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** All the characters belong to Victor Hugo and not me.

It all started because of Cosette.

It was the day before New Year’s Eve, and all the Amis were gathered in Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment because of what had started out as a meeting but slowly turned into hanging out. Cosette came inside, apologizing for her tardiness while taking off her hat, which drew a spontaneous gasp from every person in the room.

Cosette’s hair was short, as in, at the nape of her neck short; but that wasn’t the surprising part, the surprising part was that it was now a rich brown color; it accented her eyes so nicely that everyone seemed to get lost in them. She had that effect on people. Marius was the first to speak, he walked towards her and took her by the shoulders, looking her in the eye, “You look so beautiful.” Is all he managed to say.

Cosette’s smile spread across her face and she kissed him softly, “Thank you, I got tired of the blonde, figured I should go back to my natural color.”

Courfeyrac cheered loudly and yelled, “You see! Brunets _do_ have more fun!” And got up to high five Cosette, who couldn’t help but laugh at him.

After that, conversations started back up and before Grantaire could stop himself, he called out to Enjolras, “So Enjolras, now that I’ve been lied to by a certain ex-blonde, I simply must know if those precious locks of yours are real.” Enjolras was too surprised by Grantaire even speaking to him to come up with anything to respond.

Grantaire had a self-deprecating smirk on his face, “Come on, Enjolras, I’m not attractive enough to render you speechless.”

Enjolras doesn’t know what made him say it, he truly doesn’t, but he says, “Actually, you are.”

Red starts to spread across Grantaire’s face, and now he’s the one who doesn’t know how to respond. Grantaire was so sure that after everything he’d said and done to Enjolras that the blond would want nothing to do with him. He had only made the quip about his hair because he can never get enough attention from Enjolras, he craved it, gravitated towards him, like a moth to a flame. But Enjolras was brighter than a flame, Enjolras was a sun, he was radiant and brilliant. And Grantaire was completely fucked.

Enjolras moves to sit next to Grantaire on the couch. They’re in their own little nook, everyone else is having their own conversations farther away, or dancing and singing off-key (Courfeyrac and Bahorel), so Enjolras only hesitates briefly before bringing up what he really wants to talk about. “I know you’re angry at me, and though I don’t completely understand why, I wanted to apologize for pushing you about it.” He took a deep breath and averted his gaze from Grantaire’s, “I recognize now that I should’ve left well enough alone.”

“I didn’t have to say yes.” Which was about the last thing Enjolras expected to hear as a response. He shot Grantaire a confused look. “When you asked me to come...hang out with you.” Grantaire clarified, clearly not wanting to call that night a date. “I didn’t have to say yes.”

Enjolras had a slight frown on his face, trying to work out exactly what Grantaire was trying to tell him. “So then, why did you?”

Now it was Grantaire who wouldn’t look at him. He ran his hands through his hair, twisted them together on his lap. Enjolras had come to recognize when Grantaire was feeling nervous. “Because I wanted to.” He bit his lip and then the self-deprecating smirk was back, “Because I like you.”

Hesitantly, Enjolras took one of Grantaire’s fidgeting hands into his own. “Then why did you run away?”

This was precisely the question that had incited their last argument, but instead of tensing up, Grantaire seemed to deflate. “Because I was scared.” He shook his head, “I was scared that you would think it was a mistake, that you would realize the kind of person I am and you would leave and I couldn’t handle that. So I ran before you could.”

Gently, Enjolras guided Grantaire’s chin up, until they were looking into each other’s eyes. “You do know that in that moment I couldn’t run. Literally, I couldn’t, I was still too weak from the chemo.”

Grantaire shoved his shoulder, but there was a small smile on his face, “Shut up, asshole, you know what I mean.”

Enjolras looked pleased with himself, “Yes, I know. But I wouldn’t run from you, Grantaire. I want to know you. You keep saying that if I knew who you really are then I would leave. How about you let me decide that.” Enjolras laced their fingers together and gave Grantaire’s hand a supportive squeeze. “Let me get to know you, better than I already do. And I can almost guarantee you, nothing will make me run away.”

Grantaire licked his lips, and Enjolras couldn’t help but follow the path of his tongue with his eyes. Enjolras was completely fucked.

Then Grantaire nodded to himself and stood up, pulling Enjolras with him. He headed towards where he knew Enjolras’s bedroom was; nobody seemed to notice their leaving (except Jehan, because Jehan notices everything). Enjolras shut the door behind him and turned to look at Grantaire. They were still holding hands.

Grantaire looked around and chuckled, “You know, for someone who loves to be precise and organized, your room is a huge mess.” Enjolras had papers and books lying all around, over every flat surface. There was a pile of dirty clothes in the corner and the bed was unmade.

Enjolras shrugged without shame, “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Grantaire grinned, “Is that what I am?”

Enjolras stepped closer to him, reached up to trace his jaw. “I meant it, by the way. About you being attractive enough to render me speechless.” 

Grantaire’s blush was back, and he wasn’t meeting Enjolras’s eyes. He shook his head but before he could say anything Enjolras asked, “May I kiss you?” Grantaire looked up at him and stared for a second before nodding. “And you won’t run away after?” Enjolras asked, his hand settling at the side of Grantaire’s neck; he stepped closer.

Grantaire bit his lip and shook his head, “I promise.” Enjolras closed the distance between them, pressed his lips to Grantaire’s, and Grantaire couldn’t help but gasp as Enjolras’s other hand settled on the small of his back and pulled him closer.

Enjolras took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and slid his tongue along Grantaire’s lower lip, which elicited a whimper from him. Grantaire’s hands were holding on to Enjolras’s hips so tightly that Enjolras was sure they would leave bruises, but couldn’t bring himself to care as their tongues met and Grantaire slowly backed him up against the door.

Grantaire pulled away and leaned their foreheads together and said dryly, “You see, I’m still here.”

Enjolras ran his hands through Grantaire’s hair and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s keep it that way, yeah?” He whispered into Grantaire’s neck before beginning to suck bruise right at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Why, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked suddenly, a bit breathless. “Why do you like me?”

Enjolras separated from Grantaire’s neck, took his hand again. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Grantaire shook his head, “That’s not what I’m asking. We rarely get along, every single conversation we’ve had has always ended in some sort of argument. You’re everything that’s good, you’re beautiful, and I’m just, well, this. Just, give me a reason, because I don’t understand.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras tried to meet his gaze but Grantaire stubbornly avoided it, “Grantaire look at me.” When he finally did, Enjolras continued, “I think you’re amazing. You’re the best read person I know besides Combeferre, you’re ridiculously talented at the arts, like every single form of art, and it is actually unfair. You’re so eloquent when you want to be. You can deconstruct my arguments in a heartbeat, and you don’t go easy on me. You are so so much more than you make yourself out to be. And you make me better, more aware, and I love-” _you,_ he wanted to say. Because at that moment Enjolras realized that that was what he’d been feeling all this time. And it’s true that they hadn’t known each other long and that they always seemed to be arguing and they could rarely ever agree on anything. But Enjolras loved him as much as he knew how to love anything. Enjolras took a deep breath. “I love that about you.” He laughed softly, “I really like you Grantaire, and I’m not quite sure how to express that right now other than kissing you senseless.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure he actually believed him, he wasn’t sure if he ever could believe him, but he knew that he wasn’t about to push Enjolras away now, he was in too deep. So he closed the distance between them, kissing Enjolras softly but desperately as well. Enjolras pushed him backwards until they were both laying on the bed. Enjolras pulled back and looked at Grantaire, wanting to make sure that this was okay. Grantaire nodded and kissed him again, his hands wandering farther now. They didn’t need words, not for this.

~*~*~*~

Enjolras woke up at around 7 in the morning. He only woke because he felt something- someone- moving beside him and a heavy weight being lifted off his chest, that’s when he realized his right arm was numb. He opened his eyes slowly, only to see Grantaire putting on his sweater before pulling up his jeans.

Grantaire looked up and met Enjolras’s gaze, he sputtered, he hadn’t meant for Enjolras to wake up before he left. “Good- good morning.”

Enjolras sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, “Where are you going?” He was squinting, still half asleep.

Grantaire sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Enjolras, as he pulled on his boots, “I- uh- I have to get home, I don’t want Jehan and Feuilly to worry.” Enjolras reached out to grasp his shoulder but the moment he made contact Grantaire shot up. “I’ll see you tonight okay, bye.” And without looking at him once, Grantaire was out the door. Enjolras kept staring after him until he heard the front door shut.

He slumped down against his headboard, still wrapping his head around what had just happened. After about five minutes he finally stood up and pulled on a pair of pants before walking out into the living room. 

Courfeyrac was reading the paper on the couch while Combeferre read the news on his phone before they traded. Enjolras was headed over to the kitchen to try and make himself breakfast when Courfeyrac saw him and immediately asked, “WHAT HAPPENED?” before standing up and following him into the kitchen.

Combeferre picked up the paper Courfeyrac had dropped and placed it on the coffee table before heading to the kitchen. Courfeyrac was practically vibrating with excitement and just the general _need_ to know and Enjolras was so not for that this morning. Enjolras managed to avoid looking and speaking to either of them until after he had poured himself a cup of coffee and had nearly drained it, scalding his tongue.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Enjolras said long-sufferingly, raising his eyebrow at Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac grabbed Combeferre’s shoulder with one hand and grasped at his chest with the other, “He’s a tease.”

“Looks like you had fun.” Comebeferre stated, pointedly looking at Enjolras’s bare chest, where there lay various small bruises. Enjolras rolled his eyes and refilled his mug.

“This is a story for the ages.” Courfeyrac said, “I’m going to tell this story to your grandchildren. How you met at that meeting and it was practically love at first sight, I mean, you immediately got into an argument, that’s basically-”

“That’s not where we met.” Enjolras interrupted, frowning slightly.

Courfeyrac looked confused, “I thought you guys met when he came over here with us after the rally.”

Enjolras shook his head, and he could practically see Combeferre’s brain working, how he had never quite forgotten what Enjolras just remembered. “No, we met when we ran into each other at the outpatient centre. He was on his way in, and I was just leaving after chemo.”

“Outpatient centre?” Courfeyrac frowned, “What was R there for?” 

Enjolras opened his mouth to answer before realizing that he couldn’t answer; he had never asked. Well, it wasn’t really typically a thing you asked a total stranger right after you crashed into them, or they crashed into you. And honestly, at that meeting, with the excitement of the rally, Enjolras had simply forgotten. But he felt like this could be what he was missing, what Grantaire was so reluctant to tell him about. Then he remembered that night in the Musain, when Bahorel had brought in Grantaire; Grantaire who looked like he’d just seen a ghost, pale and unresponsive. He never asked what had actually happened that night, he figured if he needed to know, he would be told. This was it, and he had forgotten it months ago. Enjolras sighed, “I’m an idiot.”

Courfeyrac slung his arm around Enjolras’s shoulders (slightly awkwardly since Enjolras was several inches taller) and said, “Glad to see we’re on the same page, because, I mean, you don’t just let a guy like that walk out the door, Enj.”

Combeferre sighed and stole Enjolras’s mug to take a sip before speaking, “What Courf is trying to say is, why did you let him walk away?”

Enjolras shrugged, “He said he had to get home, I figured that was just how these things worked.”

“Enjolras, honey.” Courfeyrac emphasized each word with a pat on Enjolras’s chest. “You need to talk to him, and you need to get your shit together and sort this out because it has honestly gone on long enough. You two could be happy, I know it, but you need to learn to actually listen and understand each other first.”

“We see the way you look at him, Enj.” Combeferre had a slight smile on his face, “You’ve never looked at anyone that way before. You light up when you talk about him, even if it’s just to say how much he infuriates you sometimes. He could be good for you, and I think you could be good for him.”

~*~*~*~

Grantaire shut the door behind him as quietly as he could, hoping everyone would still be sleeping. It was for nothing though, because both Feuilly and Jehan were waiting for him on the couch. 

“So...” said Jehan, trying to discern Grantaire’s expression.

Grantaire shrugged, “I’m not even sure what to think anymore.” He shook his head slightly and ran a hand through his hair. He kind of wanted a drink, but at the same time there was a slightly pleasant feeling under his skin that he didn’t really want to forget right then. Also, it was 7 in the morning.

Feuilly’s hands were fidgeting on his lap, “Are you two okay? You and Enjolras I mean. You haven’t spoken for weeks.”

Grantaire nodded, “I- I think we’re okay.”

Jehan held out a hand and Grantaire moved quickly to sit between them. Jehan started playing with Grantaire’s hair, in the way he had learned relaxed him. “And what about you?” Jehan nudged his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Grantaire took a deep breath and sank deeper into the couch, “I think I could be, eventually.” His hands had started to tremble and he clenched them into fists in an attempt to hide it.

Feuilly took one of his hands into his own, he was never good at these emotional situations, so he left the talking to Jehan, but he needed to show Grantaire that he would be there for him, no matter what.

Jehan took the other hand, and kept playing with his hair. “Is that the first time you...you know, since-”

Grantaire nodded, and before he could try to control it, his lips started to tremble; he barely managed to stop the sob that wanted to rip its way out of his throat. The night before had been wonderful, it was all he thought he’d ever wanted. But then he woke up, and it all came crashing down around him. He wanted to leave before he broke down like this in front of Enjolras. He _couldn’t_ break down in front of Enjolras. He might’ve said that nothing would make him run away, but Grantaire wasn’t quite ready to put that to the test just yet.

Jehan kissed Grantaire’s temple and pulled him into a hug; Grantaire clung to him desperately, as he tried to control his breathing. Feuilly started to rub soothing circles into his back, keeping close so Grantaire knew that he was _there_ and that Jehan was there, and they wouldn’t leave him.

Once Grantaire’s breathing had evened out and Jehan had wiped the few stray tears that had leaked out, Grantaire laughed dryly, “Never thought I’d be one to cry after sex.”

Jehan smacked his arm slightly and raised his chin so Grantaire was looking him in the eyes, “You need to talk to him, Grantaire. I think your relationship could be beautiful, but you need to talk to him.”

Grantaire shook his head minutely, “I can’t tell him everything, Jehan. I can’t risk scaring him away.”

“You don’t have to.” Jehan kissed his cheek. “But you should, at some point. Not now, but when you’re ready.” He went back to playing with Grantaire’s hair. “And you should give Enjolras more credit, he’s a lot stronger than you think he is.”

Grantaire knew Enjolras was strong, he knew that Enjolras wouldn’t judge him. His main worry was that once Enjolras found out he would treat him with kid-gloves, or even worse, make him into some sort of cause. But mainly, he didn’t want to tell Enjolras for fear that Enjolras would decide that it was too much baggage, and, ultimately, not worth it. Grantaire didn’t know if he could handle that.

~*~*~*~

It was New Year’s Eve, 8 pm, and everyone was starting to arrive at Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment. They were all armed with pillows, blankets, and sleeping bags, since they would all be staying over. That also explained why everyone was wearing their baggiest and fluffiest pajamas.

Enjolras had been fidgety all night. He’d tried to enjoy himself, but his eyes kept wandering to the door more and more as the night went on. Finally, at around 11, the door opened and Grantaire walked in. He was loudly greeted by everyone, they’d all had more than a couple of drinks. Enjolras had decided not to indulge, he knew mixing his medication with alcohol wasn’t pleasant anyway. 

When the fuss had died down, Enjolras made his way over to where Grantaire was leaning against the wall. “Hey.” He said simply, not really sure if they were okay. He thought they were, but Grantaire left very abruptly in the morning and he could never be too sure.

Grantaire smiled slightly, “Hi.”

“Are we okay?” Enjolras was never known for being subtle and he’d had enough pleasantries as it was.

Grantaire’s smile grew and he nodded, “Yeah, I think we are.”

Enjolras took a deep breath and nodded to himself, “I wanted to ask you something. But I’m not sure if this is the best place.” Or time, for that matter. He nodded his head towards his bedroom and trusted that Grantaire would follow him.

He closed the door behind them and turned to face Grantaire. “So? What is it?” Grantaire’s smile was still in place and Enjolras didn’t want to say anything that would make it go away.

Enjolras finally decided to just get it over with. “We met at an outpatient centre.”

That made the smile go away. Grantaire nodded slowly, “We did.”

Enjolras nervously ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know why you were there, I never thought to ask. And once I realized this, I remembered that time at the Musain, when Bahorel carried you in after you went after that guy that was chasing ‘Ponine. And I just, figured that if it was something I needed to know, someone would tell me. I know something’s wrong R, and you don’t have to tell me what it is, but I want you to know that you can.” Grantaire sat on the corner of Enjolras’s bed and frowned at the door, avoiding Enjolras’s gaze. Enjolras sat down beside him and put his hand over Grantaire’s, he was glad when Grantaire laced their fingers together. “I know what it’s like for people to pity you because you’re sick. I know what it’s like to not know when people are being genuine or when you’re just a cause to them. I know what it’s like to lose people you thought you were close to because they couldn’t deal with your problems anymore. I won’t treat you that way, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I won’t run away just because you have baggage, I promise.”

Grantaire finally looked up and met Enjolras’s eyes. He was frowning slightly, as if he was trying to figure something out, or thinking too hard. Enjolras wanted nothing more than to kiss the frown away, but he knew it probably wouldn’t be too appropriate at the moment. “So ask me.” He said finally. At Enjolras’s frown he clarified, “Ask me why I was at the outpatient centre.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Enjolras said, turning so he was facing Grantaire.

Grantaire turned as well, “I know.” He smiled a small, sad smile. “Ask me.”

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand again, “Why were you there?”

“I was in the psych ward.” Grantaire was looking down at their joined hands. He couldn’t tell him everything, not now, not all at once. But some of it, he could get through some of it. He took a deep breath, “I was there because of attempted suicide. I was diagnosed with depression and PTSD.” He wouldn’t tell him about the self-harm, not yet. He was glad Enjolras hadn’t noticed it the night before, that it wasn’t the reason he was asking this. “That day I ran into you was my first day as an outpatient, after a week as an inpatient. I kind of thought you were an angel.” He looked up and found that Enjolras was looking at him fondly, even if his eyes were a little sad around the edges. There wasn’t any pity though, and for that Grantaire was grateful.

Enjolras pushed Grantaire curls off his forehead and said, “Thank you.”

Grantaire frowned, “Not really the reaction I was expecting.”

Enjolras laughed softly, “That was the first thing that ‘Ferre told me after I told him I had cancer. He thanked me for trusting him enough to tell him. I finally get it now.”

Grantaire leaned their foreheads together, their noses brushing against each other. “It’s not the whole story, and I know you know that.”

Enjolras nodded slightly, jostling Grantaire’s head. “I know, but I only want you to tell me what you’re comfortable with telling me.”

“Thanks for that.” Grantaire smiled slightly and pressed a kiss to the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “I think that’s enough sad for tonight though, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

Enjolras bit his lip, then kissed Grantaire chastely on the lips. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

~*~*~*~

When they went back into the living room Courf immediately took Grantaire away to go have a drink with him and Jehan. Enjolras found himself sitting next to Combeferre on the couch.

“How’d it go?” Combeferre asked, raising a single eyebrow.

Enjolras smiled slightly and tilted his head to the side, “Better than I expected.” Then he tossed a sidelong glance at Combeferre, “You knew, didn’t you? Since that night at the Musain.”

Combeferre glanced around before nodding, “Feuilly told Joly and me about the PTSD. It wasn’t my place to tell you.”

Enjolras nodded, “I get it, I’m not mad at you.”

Right then Bahorel called out, “Two minutes to midnight!”

Combeferre patted Enjolras’s knee and said, “Go to him.” Then he stood up and went to talk to Feuilly.

Enjolras made his way over to where Courfeyrac and Jehan were taking shots while Grantaire stood by with a beer in hand. Enjolras placed his hand on the small of Grantaire’s back and smiled when Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. Courfeyrac tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile while Jehan winked at them.

“30 seconds!” Called out Cosette, who was sitting on Marius’s lap in an armchair. Éponine was sitting nearby, Gavroche nearly asleep, despite how much soda he’d had. She brushed his hair back and tried to make him more comfortable.

“25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20!” Everyone called out collectively. Courfeyrac and Jehan had started kissing long before that. Bahorel, Feuilly and Combeferre were standing at the back of the room, near the window, waiting for the fireworks. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were in a three-person embrace, trying to decide who would get to kiss who first.

Grantaire laced his fingers with Enjolras’s and brought his hand up to kiss the back of it. He leaned closer to Enjolras, “Do you permit it?” he whispered. 

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” 

Enjolras pressed their lips together, smiling all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally???? YES!!! FINALLY!!!  
> Also take a moment to imagine Courfeyrac saying "Honey" like the kid in the Listen Linda video
> 
> Really I’m really sorry that I took like half a year to update. Just know that I haven’t abandoned this story, and I still love writing it. I’ve really just been too busy and I’m about to get really busy again, but I promise I’ll update as soon as I can.
> 
> Also, I plan to have an entire chapter (or a good portion of one) dedicated to Bahorel, which is why I didn't add their storyline to this chapter because it's so e/R centric and I just don't want Bahorel to get drowned out in that. But I'll get to it, promise.
> 
> Sorry if any of them are OOC, I really just wrote this chapter on a whim and I'm semi-satisfied with it.
> 
> I don’t have a beta so all mistakes are mine (I’ll go over this again later to see if I missed any mistakes)
> 
> Thanks for your patience, guys.
> 
> And if you leave me feedback I will love you forever.  
>  

**Author's Note:**

> I now have a [tumblr blog](http://atthe-barricades.tumblr.com/) for my writing (which is also blank because I just started it) where I will be posting my current progress on the chapter I'm writing, as well as snippets and faceclaims, some headcanons too, so yeah follow me there if you want :)


End file.
